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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



CHEISTMAS CARILLONS 





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CHRISTMAS CARILLONS 



AND OTHER POEMS 



ANNIE CHAMBEES-KETCHUM 



" . . . . Tibi lilia plenis 
Ecce fenint Nymphte calathis ; tibi Candida Nais 
Pallentes violas et summa papavera carpens 
Narcissam et florem jungit bene olcntis anethi." 



Of 

NEW YORK 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

1888 



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CoPTBiSHT, 1877, 1888, 
By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 

Copyright, 1S95, 
By ANNIE CHAMBERS-KETCHUM 



OOl^TENTS 











FA6E 


Absent ........ 128 


A Christmas Carol 










188 


Adrian 










177 


Advent 










185 


Agathos . 










83 


Amabare me 










170 


A Mother's Prayer 










109 


An Invocation . 










153 


A Requiem 










146 


A Sea-Shell 










137 


At Parting 










204 


A Treaty of Eld 










59 


AUBADE 










45 


Benny: a Christmas Ballad 










105 


Birthday-Gifts . 










174 


Brother Antonio 










47 


Celestine . 










148 


Christmas Carillons 










1 


Christus resurrexit 










189 



vi 


CONTENTS. 








PAGE 


Cor unum, Via una o . . . . . 176 


Does he love me? 










. 122 


Does he remember? 












. 156 


Dolores . 












11 


Dreams 












. 172 


Dried Mosses 












. 141 


Elisha Kent Kane 












. 166 


Hesperus . 












. 124 


HiNES 












. 162 


In Summer 












. 117 


La Belle Justine 












91 


La Notte . 












31 


Lazarus . 












73 


L'Bnvoi 












vii 


Leonidas . 












131 


Memoria in sterna 












199 


Miserere mei 












194 


My Queen 












151 


Octodecima 












133 


On the Bridge . 












127 


Pallas-Athena . 












41 


Sea-Weeds 












138 


Semper fidelis . 












19 


Shady-Side 












112 


The Sainted 












180 


The Touching of Jesus 












191 


Twenty-one 












158 


Via Crucis Via Lucis . 












197 


Waiting . 












130 



L'ENVOI. 

« 

Men give their best to them they love the best; 

The sceptre to the queen, the laurel- wreath 

To the rapt minstrel, and the jeweled sheath 
To him whose sword has stood the battle's test. 
What guerdon, then, for thee ? what garland blest. 

What mightiest wand and blade and tempered shield ? 

I bring thee arms by fiercest proof annealed ; 
I bring thee flowers nor blight nor storm may wrest. 
When on thy heart, triumphant from the heUs 

Of childbirth-pain, Love's first flower thou didst bear. 
The miracle of this dower thy soul didst prove. 
O deathless joy, which motherhood foretells ! 

Take, then, my child, as Life's divinest share. 
Thy sceptre, crown, and shield, a mother's love. 




1 Join Jlarper's Magazine. 



THE ANNUNCIATION. 



CHRISTMAS CARILLONS. 

TWELVE CHIMES— CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

i. the annunciation. 

" All-hail ! " 
The angel greets tlie Virgin mild : 
" Hail, Mary, full of grace ! thy Cliild 
The Son of God shall be." 
Ring out o'er land and sea 

Glad bells, All-hail! 
Immanuel comes to you and me. 

O Babe new-born 

This happy morn, 

O Flower from thorn, 
"All-hail" 
We sing, with radiant Gabriel, 
Hail, Mother of Immanuel ! 

II. THE SALUTATION. 

"All-hail!" 
The Virgin bids Elizabeth ; 



CHRISTMAS CARILLONS. 

And at the magic of her breath 
The unborn Baptist leaps to greet 
The unborn Christ he comes to meet. 

" My soul 
Doth magnify the Lord ! " 
Repeat the gracious word 

Froni pole to pole ; 
Magnificat with Mary sing, 
Hail, Key of David, hail, our King ! 

Ring, happy bell, 
Thrice hail to our Immanuel ! 



ni. THE NATIVITY : HOMAGE OF THE BEASTS. 

Noel ! 
" My soul and life, stand up and see 
Who lies in yonder crib of tree." 

BaUoo-la-lo ! 

Ye happy bells, ring low, 
The ox, the ass, the lamb, adore 
This child upon a stable floor. 

Bal-loo-la-lo ! 

O happy bells, ring low, 



CHRISTMAS CARILLONS. 

And with the kneeling cattle say 
The holy Benedicite. 

^el! Noel! 
God with us, our Immanuel ! 

IV. THE HOIVIAGE OF THE SHEPHERDS. 

Noel! 
The shepherds see the angel bright 
Who sings to them at dead of night ; 

They leave the sleeping flock, 
And follow on, with joyful feet, 
To see the Child, the Mother sweet, 
The manger in the rock. 
Noel! Noel! 
Adeste with the shepherds sing, 
Yenite adoremus ring. 

Noel! Noel! 
All-hail to our Immanuel ! 

V. THE HOMAGE OF THE THREE KINGS, 

Noel! 
The skies the wondrous story tell ; 
The Orient kings afar 



CHRISTMAS CARILLONS. 

Obey the herald star ; 
They bring their gifts to Jesu's shrine : 

Melchior, the gold to crown Him king ; 
Jasper, the priestly incense fine ; 

Balthasar, myrrh for suffering. 
King, Priest, Redeemer ! Ring, each holy bell, 
Sing with the kings of Orient and the star, 

Noel! Noel! 
All-hail to our Immanuel ! 



VI. THE HOMAGE OF THE ANGELIC CHOIRS. 

Noel ! 
The captains of the cohorts nine 
Come down to lead the song divine ; 
" Glory to God in highest heaven. 
And peace on earth to men be given ! " 
Ring out, and never cease, 
O happy bell, 
And with the angels sing the Song of Peace. 
The Gloria in excelsis ring, 
Hosanna to the new-bom King ! 

Noel ! Noel ! 
He brings us peace, Immanuel 1 




C pr.^lit, lbs , Ij Hirieri Brothe 
"THE SHElHEKDh SI'.K THE ANCKT- BRIGIl I. Page 3. 



CHRISTMAS CARILLONS. 

vn. THE waiidek's ckt of good-will. 

J^oel! 
Good- will toward men ! Ye warders four, 

Go, call, with brazen horn, 
Thief, robber, magdalen, outcast poor, 

This happy morn ; 
" A-jule ! a-yule ! " send forth the girth 
To all the corners of the earth ; 
" The city gates wide open be ; 
Come in ! Immanuel sets you free ! " 

Ring, holy bell, 

A-yale! Noel! 
He brings good- will, Immanuel ! 



Vin. HOUSE-DECKESTG. 

Noel! 
Bar out the master from the school ; 
Mirth comes with peace. Bring in the yule. 
Ye lads and lasses, go, 
Fetch ivy, holly, mistletoe, 
For hall and mews ; 
If Jock refuse. 



CHRISTMAS CARILLONS. 

Then steal his Sunday breeches, Kate, 

And nail them to the gate. 
]^oel! Noel! 
Sing, lads and lasses, sing Noel ! 
He brings us mirth, Immanuel ! 

IX. THE WASSAIL-BOWL. 

Was-haile ! 
Sire Christmas brings the wreathed cup 
With apples, ale, and spice filled up. 

Was-haile ! 
Each ancient grief and grudge we drown ; 
The Lamb's-wool smooths the roughest frown ; 

Drink-haile ! 
Peal, merry bells, peal out apace. 
We pledge Immanuel's day of grace — 

Was-haile ! Noel ! 
He brings us joy, Immanuel ! 

X. THE BOAH'S HEAD. 

Was-haile ! 
Bring in, upon his silver tray, 
With minstrelsie, 



CHRISTMAS CARILLONS. 

The boar's head, armed with garlands gay 

And rosemarie ; 
The lemon in his tusked mo', 
He laughs amain, " Noel ! " I trow. 

Was-haile ! 
Be gay, ye lordlings, more or less, 
The boar's head leads the Christmas mess. 
Was-haile! ]^oel! 
Give thanks to our Immanuel ! 



XI. THE CHEISTMAS-PIB. 

"Was-haile ! 
Bring next the meats with mickle pride ; 
The plover and the partridge pied, 
Woodcock and heron fine, 
Good drink thereto, the Gascon wine ; 

Was-haile ! 
And then, whiles pipe and tabor ply, 
The best of all, the shridded pie. 

Drink-haile ! 
Without the door let Sorrow lie ! 

And gif she die, 
We'll shroud her in the Christmas-pie. 



CHUISTMAS CARILLONS. 

Was-haile! l^oel! 
He brings good cheer, Immanuel ! 

XII. twelfth-night: choosing king and queen. 

Was-haile ! 
Your places, lads and lasses, take, 
To find your fortune in the cake. 
"Was-liaile ! 
Jock gets the bean. 
And chooses Kate for queen. 

Drink-haile ! 
Now foot it in the reel, 
Each frolic heel ; 
Ye maskers, that a-mumming go, 
Stay yet, and point the toe ; 
" Bounce, buckram, velvets dear, 
For Christmas comes but once a year ! " 

Was-haile ! Drink-haile ! Noel ! 
Good-night ! Sleep well ! 
God keep us all, Immanuel ! 



DOLORES 



DOLORES. 

In beauty fairer far 
Than the divinest dream of him who drew 
The stately Eos guiding up the blue 

Apollo's golden car — 

From the dusk realm of Night 
Comes forth the radiant Morning, brushing back 
The clouds, like blossoms, from her rosy track 

With diamond dews bedight. 

The priestly mocking-bird 
Wakens the grosbeak with his early hymn ; 
And down the slopes and through the woodlands dim 

Sweet, holy sounds are heard. 

Her gold-enamelled bells 
The tall campanula rings. Midst daisies white 



12 DOLORES. 

The litlie, slim phalaris ' flaunts his pennons bright 
O'er all the grassy swells. 

Benzoin's breath divine 
Spices the air ; the jasmine censers swing ; 
Among the ferns beside the darkling spring 

The mailed nasturtions shine. 

The brown bees come and go ; 
His cheerful tune the lonely cricket sings ; 
While the quick dragon-fly, on lightning wings, 

Darts flashing to and fro. 

Pomegranates golden-brown 
Drop delicate nectar through each rifted rind, 
And ghostly witch' s-feather " on the wind 

Comes slowly riding down. 

The gray cicada sings 
Drowsily midst th' acacia's feathery leaves ; 
Aroimd her web the caterpillar weaves 

The last white silken rings. 

' The ribbon-grasses {Phalaris Americana) along the shores of the 
Gulf of Mexico are remarkable for their splendid colours. 
2 The down of a species of thistle. 



DOLORES. 13 

September silently 
His pleasant work fulfils with busy bands ; 
While, cheering him, floats o'er the shining sands 

The murmur of the sea. 

Deep in the shady dell 
The cowherd, whistling at his own rude will, 
Lists, with bared head, as from the distant hill 

Rings out Saint Michael's bell — 

Calling, with warning lips. 
Matron and maid, albeit the south-winds blow. 
To climb the height and pray for them that go 

Down to the sea in ships. 

The fishers in the boats. 
Mending their nets with murmurous song and noise, 
Stop sudden, as Dolores' silver voice 

From the gray chapel floats : 

They think how, o'er the bay. 
The sailor bridegroom, from her white arms torn, 
Sailed in the haze and gold of Michaelmas morn 

One year ago to-day ; 



14 DOLORES. 

Then, rocking witli the tide, 
They reckon up the news of yesterday. 
And count what time to-day, within the bay, 

The home-bound ship may ride. 

Dreaming, the long night hours. 
Of white sails coming o'er the tossing deep. 
At dawn Dolores from her strange, glad sleep, 

Arose to gather flowers : 

Cups honeyed to the brim. 
And fruits, and brilliant grasses, and the stems 
Of myrtles, with their waxen diadems 

To offer unto him. 

Beside the chapel porch. 
The Gloria ended, lingering now she turns 
To look, as on the brightening spire-cross burns 

The morning's golden torch ; 

Then sees, with sober glee, 
The swift, prophetic sea-gulls flying south. 
Far out beyond the landlocked harbour's mouth. 

Into the open sea. 




From riarper'8 Miijjazine. 



Copyright, 1S71, by Harper & Brothera. 

" ' STEAHV, THOU FKIiSIIEMXG VAIEKZE,' 
IIF.R IiAltlv EYES SAY." Paf/e 15. 



DOLORES. 15 

" Steady, thou freshening breeze," 
Her dark eyes say, as o'er the sparkling main 
She gazes — " steady, till thou bring again 

The ship from distant seas ; 

"So, ere his golden wine 
The setting sun adown the valley pour, 
Dear eyes may watch with me, beside the door, 

The autumn day decline." 

O breeze, O sea-birds white ! 
Ye may not bring her, from that rocky coast. 
The stranded ship, nor wrest the tempest-tost 

From the black billow's might ! 

But when she wearily 
Shall pray for comfort, of that countiy tell 
Where all the lost are crowned with asphodel, 

And there is no more sea. 



I 



SEMPEE FIDELIS. 



SEMPEE FIDELIS. 

She stands alone, on the rose-wreathed porch, 

Gazing, with star-like eyes, 
On the white moon lighting a silver torch 

In the glowing western skies ; 
While her cheeks and her tresses kindle and scorch 

In the sunset's fiery dyes. 

Her broad straw hat with its loosened bands 

Falls from her shoulders down ; 
Idly she frees her slender hands 

From their garden-gauntlets brown. 
And smiles, as she smooths her hair's bright strands, 

And looks toward the distant town. 

High overhead, 'round the tower's bright vane, 

The circling swallows swoop ; 
Tinkling along the bowery lane 

The loitering cattle troop 



20 SEMPER FIDELIS. 

To drink with tlie snow-white yonquapene ' 
Where Babylon willows droop. 

Black as jet, in the sunset's gold, 

Loom spire and buttressed wall ; 
Soft as a veil, o'er the tangled wold, 

The twilight shadows fall. 
While the white mists rise from the valley cold 

And climb to the mountains tall. 

Now bounding out to the rustic stile, 

Now crouching at her feet. 
Her setter's bright eyes wait the while 

Till hers shall bid him fleet 
Down the dim forest's scented aisle 

With wild-wood odours sweet. , 

Of what is she thinking while her hand 

Caresses the fond old hound 
Fidelio, whelped in Switzerland 

And trained on Tuscan ground, 
His throat still wearing a golden band 

By kingly fingers bound ? 

' The familiar name — derived by the Spaniards from the Indians — for 
the beautiful lotos-flowers so common to the lakes and lagoons in all 
tropical regions of the Western world. 



SEMPER FIDELIS. %\ 

Semper fidelis : on the clasp 

The glittering legend shines, 
As when the giver linked the hasp 

'Keath Conca d'Oro's vines, 
Then, silent, sailed where torrents rasp 

The pine-girt Apennines. 

She hears again Saint Rosalie's bell 

From Pelegrino's height ; 
Ave the fishers' voices swell 

Across the waters bright ; 
While incense-like from the Golden Shell 

Rose-odoTirs bless the night. 

From Posilippo's poet-shrine, 

Haunted by flower and bee, 
She sees the peaks of Capri shine 

On the rim of the sparkling sea ; 
She sings 'neath Ischia's fig and vine, 

She dreams in Pompeii. 

Where soft Yenezia's mellow bells 

Float o'er the silver tide ; 
Where bright Callirhoe's diamond wells 

Deck dry Tlissus' side, 



22 SEMPER FIDELIS. 

Or where down the sanely Syrian dells 
The wild, scarfed Bedouins ride ; 



Bright as in those long-parted days 

Fair classic scene and song 
In all their magical, phantom grace 

Back to her memory throng ; 
Yet framing ever one thoughtful face 

Their arabesque among. 

Swallow and tower and tree forgot, 
She spans the chasm of years ; 

She talks with him, by shrine and grot, 
Of human hopes and fears ; 

Of lives spent nobly, without a blot. 
Of blots washed clean by tears. 



Brilliant and proud that dazzling train 

In the classic lands so fair ; 
Pilgrims gay from the sparkling Seine 

And the cliffs of Finisterre ; 
The Austrian pale, and the fair-haired Dane, 

And the Kentish lady rare : 



SEMPER FWELI8. 23 

Yet he turned away with sober grace 

From each haughty, titled hand, 
And sought the light of a charming face 

From the distant sunlit strand 
Where a tamarind-shaded river lays 

Its floors of golden sand. 

Title nor diadem was hers ; 

Yet — true to truth, O fame ! — 
No record in history's graven years 

E'er roused a readier claim 
To the good man's love, or the coward's fears, 

Than her simple Saxon name. 

So, dowered with her own pure womanhood, 

Regal in soul as in aii-. 
Where coronets flashed with their ruby flood 

And crowns with their diamonds rare, 
Ever a queen among queens she stood 

Crowned in her braided hair. 

Yet ever, albeit with trembling lips. 

One answer, o'er and o'er, 
While her bright eyes suffered a strange eclipse, 



24 SEMPER FIDELIS. 

She gave to the vows he bore : 
Troth plighted afar, where the wild surf drips 
Down the cliffs of a Southern shore. 



What though she felt, with a keen despair, 
She had grown from that childish vow ; 

That the plodder who won it, though earnest, bare 
No trace of her likeness now ; 

That the wreath soon to gleam on her chestnut hair 
Would circle an aching brow ? 

What though he urged that the demon Pride 

And the tyrants Chance and Youth 
Forge chains that forever should be defied 

For the deathless spirit's nith ; 
That a false creed's logic should be denied 

For the majesty of truth ? 

Silent, she showed him the quaint old ring 

On her twisted chatelaine — 
A soldier's gift from a grateful king — 

With its legend's lesson plain. 
To be worn, whatever the soul might wring, 

Bravely, without a stain. 



SEMPER FIDELIS. 35 

Shine on her softly, white moon, to-night ! 

Thou, only thou, dost know 
How she kept — true child of the belted knight 

Who won it long ago — 
That ring's stern Semper fidelis bright 

And clean as the Jura snow. 

Softly ! Thou heardst the deep sea break 

At the foot of the terrace sward. 
When she said — while the words of their doom she 
spake — 

1^0 fate need he reckoned hard, 
Since duty, well done for duty's sahe, 

Is ever its own reward. 

Softly ! JS'ext morn thy wraith in the skies 

Looked down on a wraith as pale. 
Transfixed and deaf to Fidelio's cries 

As he ramped on the terrace rail 
And bayed the sea, where his mistress' eyes 

Followed a fading sail. 

Kingdoms have risen and fallen since then ; 
Prelate and prince have found 



36 SEMPER FIDELI8. 

Both altar and throne the scofE of men 



And glory's dazzling round 
Summed up, to one thoughtful spirit's ken, 
In the life of a silken hound : 

One spirit on field and council-floor 

Of first and best repute ; 
Spotless amidst the strife and roar 

Of mad Ambition's suit, 
Still finding the worm at the bitter core 

Of kingcraft's golden fruit ; 

And pausing midst victory's din, perchance, 

Or the hazard game of power, 
To dream of a sea where the sunbeams dance 

And the white clouds sail or lower ; 
To call up a woman's tender glance, 

And a bitter parting hour. 

While she who turned from a throne away 

In steadfast, royal truth — 
Stemming the tide she might not stay, 

For duty as for ruth — 
Hath wrought in a miracle, day by day, 

The promise of her youth ; 



SEMPER FIDELIS. 27 

Till the one for whom she gave up the ways 

Of a life with high hopes fraught, 
And chose a place with the commonplace, 

The spell of her spirit caught, 
And the lustrous gold of a noble grace 

With his coarser fibre wrought. 

Bright with all eloquent, potent things 

This home of quiet peace ; 
Ebon and palm from the desert's springs, 

With the marble gods of Greece ; 
Conch and coral and painted wings 

Of birds from Indian seas ; 

Helmet and shield in the frescoed hall, 

Bronzes beside the door, 
Clefts where the cool, clear waters fall, 

Waves on the lonely shore, 
Blossom and cloud and mountain, all 

Teaching their sacred lore. 

Sweet from the gnarled black ebony wood 

Flowers the fragrant snow ; 
Pure from their rocky solitude 

The singing fountains flow ; 



28 SEMPER FIDELIS. 

Fair 'neatli tlie chisel sharp and rude 
The hving marbles grow : 

So blessings begot of the wakening mom 
And the peace of midnight skies, 

Feature and form and voice adorn 
And shine in her amber eyes, 

Aglow with the deathless beauty born 
Of stern seK-sacrifice. 

Shine on her softly, as she stands 

To catch the signal light 
From a father who waits beside the sands 

To see, o'er the waters bright, 
A ship sail in from the classic lands 

With a gallant child to-night. 

A sudden gleam through the alleys green ; 

Fidel io flies apace ; 
Glad voices float on the air serene. 

And then, the fond embrace 
Of a boy with his father's quiet mien 

And his mother's radiant face. 

They sit 'neath the crystal chandeher 
And list, with smihng eyes. 



SEMPER FIDELI8. 29 

As he talks of the Alpine yodel clear, 

Of the pifferari's cries, 
Of the lazy song of the gondolier. 

Of Hellas' golden skies ; 

Then, sad, of the carnage in fair Moselle ; 

Of his school-fellows scattered wide, 
When the convent was shattered by shot and shell, 

Its portals wrenched aside, 
Where Saxon and Frank who fought and fell 

Were gathered side by side. 

Then one and another strange romance 

Of the battle's ruthless test ; 
And last, the tale of a princely lance 

With the death-wound on his breast, 
Clasping close, with a star-like glance, 

A portrait beneath his vest. 

"No one its history could trace; 

None knew it, except the dead. 
One of our priests — who had served his race — 

The night before we fled 
Gave me the picture, because the face 

Was so like mine," he said. 



30 SEMPER FIDELI8. 

A gold-framed portrait with vermeil dyes : 

A woman, standing pale, 
In the glow of soft Sicilian skies ; 

And a hound on a terrace rail 
Baying the sea, where his mistress' eyes 

Follow a fading sail. 



They have sung with the boy a welcome back ; 

They have chanted the evening psalm ; 
The swallows sleep in the turret black, 

The winds in the desert palm ; 
Silence broods o'er the bay's bright track, 

And the mountains cold and calm. 

The spicy breath of the deepening night 

Floats through the oriel fair. 
As the moon looks in with her parting light 

And rests with her silver rare 
Beneath the bust of a mail-clad knight 

On a woman bowed in prayer. 



LA NOTTfi. 

Out of the many contradictory stories concerning Antonio Allegri da 
Correggio, historical critics have sifted the facts that he lived, unknown 
and comparatively poor, during the tumultuous opening of the sixteenth 
century, when the midland cities of the Romagna suffered most from the 
strifes of the Bianchi and Neri begun centuries before; that his wife, 
Girolama Merlini, was the model for his finest pictures and the lode-star 
of his life ; and that just as he was about to set off for Rome, through 
the influence of Giulio Romano, he died suddenly of fever at the age of 
five-and-thirty. 

Golden the Kght on Parma's stately fanes ; 
And spicy-sweet the spring-time's early breath 
Borne northward from the terraced Apennines, 
O'er blossoming vines and snowy orchard flowers, 
And broidered meadows sloping to the Po. 

Golden the light ; yet brighter still the eyes 
Of a pale dreamer with uplifted face, 
Lingering a moment on the strada broad — 
Where stands the mighty angel's statue tall — 



33 LA NOTTA 

Then passing, silent, through Saint Michael's gate, 
"While yet the angelus vibrates to the noon. 

What though his cheek with fever's subtle flush 
Is hectic, and the way before him long ? 
His heart is stouter than his beechen staif ; 
Cheered by a friendlier wine than that distilled 
From fair Komagna's grapes-of-paradise.* 

He sees the silvery river's twisted streams 
Netted with flowery islands. On yon slope 
Young children play with kids ; and, whistling low, 
The lithe-limbed, sinewy mulitieri drive 
Their laden beasts along th' Emilian Way. 

The triple crown, the lilied oriflamrae. 
The haughty standard of imperial Charles, 
Flaunting its proud Plus Ultra to the sun. 
The trumpet's boisterous blare, the flashing lance, 
The glittering casque, are past, as in a dream. 

War's turbulent clangour silences no more 
The wild birds in their coverts. Peaceful stand 
The sentinel poplars in their gold-green plumes 

' Uva paradisa, the fine yellow grapes of the Romagna. 



LA NOTTE. 33 

Beside the Enzo bridge where late the hoofs 
Of flying squadrons scoured th' affrighted land. 

The soft cloud-shadows chase each other now 
O'er violet gardens ; barefoot, laughing boys 
Plash in the brook ; beneath her cottage porch 
A white-coifed woman stands with levelled hand 
Shading her dark eyes from the westering sun. 

All greet him as he passes. By the stile 
The grandsire gray looks up and blesses him ; 
The low-voiced mother lifts her prattling babe 
And prompts its sweet huon giorno / in the fields 
The vintners doff their tall caps from afar. 

Then to each other, one by one, they talk 

Of that grand Easter morning, when, midst wreaths 

Of incense, while the organ's thunders rolled. 

They knelt in Parma's Duomo, every eye 

Fixed on the pictured dome then first unveiled. 

A miracle ! No painted roof is there, 

But this blue sky of Italy, these clouds 

Curled by the south-wind, where with cherub wings 

The little ones they dandle on their knees 

Bear the white Virgin through the quickening air. 



34 -C^ NOTTK 

The saints wear household features. There they see 
The grandsire in Saint Peter glorified ; 
While he, the grandsire gray, he kneels apart, 
And sees, through tears, despite her new-made grave. 
His daughter, in Our Lady's radiant form. 

The day declines' On yonder sunny bank 
Beyond the Crostolo for a while he rests, 
The patient, worn Allegri, all his face 
Kindhng with benediction as he looks 
Toward far-off Mantua's faint horizon line. 

Kot all in vain, throughout the battling strife 
Of Guelph and Ghibelline has he broke the bread 
Of sorrow, trusting the prophetic voice 
"Within him — keeping, earnest year by year, 
Faith with himself, prime duty, seldom wrought ! 

To him, th' unsought, th' unseeking, there have come 
No fine court favours. He has never seen 
Lorenzo's gardens nor the Vatican ; 
Parma, Bologna, Modena, Mantua, these 
Inscribe the limits of his narrow world. 

Karrow yet boundless. Morning unto him 
Unlocks her gates of pearl. The wizard Koon 



LA NOTTS. 35 

Tells Mm deep secrets. Sunset, purple-robed, 
Leads him througli halls of chrysolite and gold, 
And Midnight spins her silver in his dreams. 

The shadows lengthen, yet, entranced, he sees 
Only the visioned future as he rests ; 
Mindful no longer of the broken faith, 
The grudging spite, the cruel scoff and taunt 
Of recreant churchmen,' scornful of his worth. 

" Not all in vain," he muses — " not in vain. 
But yesterday Romano came and went. 
The brave, frank Giulio, with his noble words 
Calling the freshness of my boyhood back. 
Good angels guard thee, Mantua, for his sake ! 

Giulio, by prince and cardinal sent, and bearing 

A message from the mighty Florentine. 

Girolama mia ! We will go to Rome, 

And the great Angelo shall see from whence 

La Notte's and Saint Catherine's grace are caught. 

' The ecclesiastics of Parma refused for a long time to pay Correggio 
for his work in the cathedral, calling its splendidly foreshortened figures 
un guazzetto di ruTie — a hash of frogs. 



36 LA nottA 

Chaste mother of my boys ! Whose wisdom rare, 
Echpsing even thy beauty, through these years 
Of toil and trust my guiding star has been. 
Well might Romano say I owe to thee 
The brighter fortune dawning on us now." 

And she — all day within her quiet home, 
In fair Correggio, she has thought of him ; 
Counting the busy hours till his return ; 
Pondering the wondrous message Giulio brought. 
And singing at her work sweet, thankful hymns. 



'Tis late. She goes to meet him at the spring, 
Pomponio laughing gaily by her side, 
Her baby at her breast. The brook is crossed. 
The hill-path climbed. She sees him lying still 
Under the fig-trees, in the reddening light. 

She kneels beside him, hushing reverently 
Her children's prattle as she brushes back 
The tangled meshes of his nut-brown hair : 
" So tired, so tired ! O patient, steady heart, 
Sleep yet a little, while we watch thy rest." 

Slowly his dark eyes open at her touch. 
The sunset for a moment gilds her hair. 



LA NOTTK ^^ 

Her children shine transfigured. Still he lies, 
Smiling with fixed, calm gaze, while darker grow 
The shadows as he feasts upon her face. 

O skv, whose lazuli ceiling roofs the world, 
Brood with your tenderest grace of mist and star ; 
O Earth, whose motherly bosom holds us all. 
Pour your most precious balsams as she bends 
To catch his last low whisper — " ]N"ot in vain ! " 



It hangs there on the wall, Correggio's Night 
Copied by thee, thou of the glorious soul 
And dauntless spirit ! All my lonely nights 
Are brighter for its presence — may my life 
Be better for the lesson it has taught ! 



PALLAS-ATHEE'A. 



PALLAS-ATHENA. 
C. 0. 

The sages tell us genius is tlie fruit 

Of centuries. One child alone came forth 

From Scio's golden cycles. With blind eyes 

Turned from without, he tracked the world of thought, 

Counted its fabulous shapes, and gave to men 

That beautiful religion which has made 

Classic and consecrate each Tuscan flower, 

Each Greek and Roman stream. 

One prince alone, 
Prophet and seer, sprang from the lusty womb 
Of Europe's last millennium. "With bright eyes 
Gleaming like opals, from each bog and fen 
Goblin and witch he summoned ; from the air 
Fantastic sprites ; and from the human heart 
Its hidden skeletons, its demons fierce, 
Or, with a seraph's high authority, 



42 PALL A S-A THEN A. 

Its godlike virtues and its graces fair. 
Swift as tlie lightning, over land and sea 
His subtle witchery sped. The little child 
Looking for buttercups, the grandani gray 
Mending her winter fire, the cow-boy blithe 
Babbled his wit, not knowing whence it came ; 
And they whose polished, sensitive ear had caught 
The magic of his verse, sought far and wide- 
In eager hope that from the lifeless page 
Some spirit weird as his might call to life 
The wondrous shapes he pictured. 

Hope had died 
Or dwindled to the meagre stunted thought 
That the grand visions of the English seer 
Were but ideal children, when at length 
From Avon's Jupiter, armed cap-a-pie, 
Thou, goddess-queen, didst spring. 

We see thee tread 
Macbeth's still midnight chamber, and the shapes 
That haunt our own deep hearts start up, and point 
Malignant fingers at us. 'Tis not thou 
We gaze at till our spirits shake with fear, 
But dark Alecto, born anew of blood. 



PALLA8-A TUENA. 43 

Scene after scene beneath thy magic wand 

The Stratford wizard's peopled world unfolds. 

We laugh with Rosalind ; we descant with Jacques ; 

Bright Portia's wit and wisdom play at will 

Before our senses ; gallant Henry woos 

Fair Katharine and most fair ; Ophelia comes 

Bedight with rue and pansies ; white-haired Lear 

Distracted sobs, Cordelia^ stay a little ! 

And Juliet sings Ten thousand times goodnight. 

We look again, as o'er the enchanted stage 
Thy proud cothurnus treads. We see the calm 
And stately child of Ferdinand, whose firm 
Castilian courage awes our ready tears 
Back to congealment. Breathlessly we note 
The queenly, sad appeal ; the haughty tone ; 
The lofty bearing, the majestic woe ; 
Till, at the last, we start to find us here, 
Dwellers in modern time, and from the leash 
Our fettered pulses freeing, while the blood 
Leaps through each trembling artery, we feel 
That life's Erinnys dire in thee become 
Eumenides indeed. 

Others have trod 
The Shakespeare world before thee. Some have wept 



44 PALLAS-ATHENA. 

Like Juliet and Ophelia ; some have died 

Like Katharine, some have plotted like Macbeth, 

Or jested like gay Rosalind in the wood ; 

But thou alone hast conjured, with thy spell, 

All the enchanter's fancies into shape 

And made them speak at will, from grave to gay 

From lively to severe. 

We are most proud 
To say thou art American, but this 
Is meagre claim for thee. Unto no land 
]S^or line dost thou belong ; thou shin'st eterne 
In the fair parthenon of mimetic lore, 
Pallas-Athena, helmeted and throned. 



= -^ 






^^^!!3^i 



'--^^-im- :-^ 



From Harper's Magazine- 



Copyright, IS"], by Harper A Brntliers. 



"TIIK FISHEliS IX TIIK I50.VTS, 
MENDING TlllilU NETS WITH Mllt.ML'UOUS SONR AND NOISE.' 



Page 13. 



AUBADE. 

Awake, m'amie ! 
The dawn is up, and like a red flower blows ; 

The gray-beard sea 
Smooths all his wrinkles out, and laughs and glows. 

Bloom, then, for these and me, 
Sweet rose ; 

Awake, m'amie ! 

Arise, m'amie ! 
The field-flowers smile on all their butterflies ; 

The humble-bee 
A wandering minstrel sings, the cricket cries ; 

Smile, then, on these and me, 
Dear eyes ; 

Arise, m'amie ! 

Make haste, m'amie ! 
The rude day comes full gallop. Let us taste 



46 AUBADE. 

With flower and bee 
The joy of youth and morning ; O make haste ! 
ITo time have these or we 

To waste ; 
Make haste, m'amie ! 



BEOTHER ANTONIO. 

The wood-yard fires flare over the deck, 

As the steamer is moored to a sunken wreck. 

They glare on the smoke-stacks, tall and black ; 
They flush on the qmck steam's flying rack ; 

But shimmer soft on the curly hair 

Of children crouched by the gangway and stair, 

And rest like hands on the furrowed brow 
Of an old man bent o'er his shrouded f ran. 

Dark sweeps the restless river's tide, 
Wliile the pall of night comes down to hide 

From the careless gaze of strangers near. 
The pale thin form on the pine-plank bier. 



48 BROTHER ANTONIO. 

They liad come from the legend-haunted Khine 

To the grand New World where the free stars shine, 

Seeking the fortune they miglit not find 
In the Fatherland they had left behind ; 

And while the proud fleet ship would toss 
The spray from her wings like an albatross, 

Their shouting children sung with glee 
Wild, stirring songs of the brave and free. 

They saw the Indian isles of palm ; 

The Mexique shores with their spice and balm ; 

And the Mississippi, an inland main, 

With its orange-groves and its fields of cane. 

Sweet, round the tawny river's mouth. 
Blew the rare odours of the South, 

And bright in the reeds, as the steamer sped, 
The white crane gleamed, and the ibis red. 

But the mother's blinding tears would fall 
As she thought of her own loved Rosenthal ; 



BROTHER ANTONIO. 49 

Of the bubbling spring by the minster gray, 
Of the vesper-hymn at the close of day ; 

Of the yew-tree's shadows, soft and dun, 
On the grave of Benno, her first-born son ; 

And while the fever, sure though slow. 
Quickened her life-blood's ebb and flow, 

She saw, in the sunset, the hills on fire; 

She heard, in her dreams, the bells of Speyer ; 

She talked of the chapel-master's child, 
Brown-eyed Greta, so gentle and mild, 

Who played with Benno beside the door 
And sang with him in the minster Chor, 

And loved him best till the stranger came 
And lured her away with his eyes of flame. 

So, ere they reached the far-off goal 
Where boundless prairie gardens roll 

From river to mount in their flowery braid 
Like play-grounds by the Titans made ; 



50 BROTHER ANTONIO. 

While all her little ones 'round her crept 
And looked in her dying face and wept — 

She closed her sunken, faded eyes 
Forever on alien woods and skies. 

They were far from consecrated ground, 
And the unshorn forest before them frowned ; 

But a vagrant footfall would not press 
The lone grave in the wilderness ; 

So, turning away from his cherished dead, 
With a quivering lip old Hermann said. 

As he looked toward the peaceful, virgin sod, 
" I'll bury her there, in the name of God." 

They dug her grave in the forest lone, 

While the night-wind murmured a sobbing moan, 

And the wood-yard fires, now red, now dim. 
Peopled the dark with spectres grim. 

Then laying her in her lonesome bed. 
Though no funereal rites were read, 



BROTHER ANTONIO. 51 

He buried her where the wild deer trod, 
With a broken prayer in the name of God. 

Captain and crew to the boat go back 

With the motherless, wailing children — alack ! 

The rousters * work, but they do not sing 
As the light pine-wood on board they bring. 

The old man kneels in the sacred place ; 
On the cold damp clay he lays his face ; 

When out from the gloom of a moss-hung tree, 
A low voice murmurs, " Pray for me." 

He sees in the thicket a dark-browed man 
Where the green palmetto spreads its fan ; 

His tall form hid in the darkening night, 
His face aglow in the flambeau's light. 

A moment more, and a palm-branch fair 
Is laid on the fresh-heaped hillock there ; 

* Rousters, or roustabouts, the negro deck-hands on the Lower Mis- 
sissippi steamers. Their wild songs, as they work, are well known to all 
Southern voyageurs. 



53 BROTHER ANTONIO. 

The stranger kneels by the silent dead — 
" I, too, have buried my life," he said. 

" Kyrie eleison ! " Low and faint 

Old Hermann utters the Church's plaint. 



" Christe eleison ! " The stranger's moan 
Thrills the air with its rich, deep tone. 



The boat-bell rings ere the prayers are o'er : 

The stranger looks toward the wave-washed shore, 

Then passes away from the flaring light, 
Saying, " You've saved a soul to-night ! " 

The old man sits, while his children sleep 
On their steerage pallets, his watch to keep. 

Over his head, in the cabin gay. 

The glasses ring and the gamesters play. 

They talk of Baden and Monaco bright ; 

They sing, they jest, through the livelong night ; 

Then, yawning, they ask, as they plan and plot, 
Why the chief of \}ciQ\Y ^artie joins them not. 



BROTHER ANTONIO. 53 

And he — they reck not he is afar, 
Watched alone by the morning star. 

Still he stands in that lonely place, 
Seeing only the pallid face 

Of one who has haunted him East and West, 
Dead, with a dead babe on her breast — 

Outcast, for his sake, from all below. 

Yet chaste, he knows, as the mountain-snow. 



Fair in the morning's rosy fire 
Saint Lazarus lifts its silver spire. 

The river circles the garden 'round, 

And the still, bird-haunted burying-ground. 

Children about the cloisters play. 
And tell, as a tale of yesterday, 

How the corner-stone by the bishop was laid. 
And Brother Antonio a deacon made — 



54 BROTHER ANTONIO. 

Brother Antonio, 'round whose head 

The brown bees hum when ^^ hives are fed ; 

Who pulls the weeds from the garden-walks 
And shields from the sun the tender stalks ; 

In whose boat the fisher's children ride 
And sing as he rows to the farther side ; 

About whose feet each helpless thing 

May buzz and blossom and crawl and sing — 

Brother Antonio, who gave his gold 
To build this home for the sick and old ; 

Who teaches the lads in the village class ; 
Who helps old Hermann mow the grass. 

Or sits at his door in the twilight dim. 

And sings with his sons their mother's hjmn. 

The ships come in with their emigrant poor 
Crowded like sheep on the steerage-floor ; 

But smiles on the lips of the feeblest play 
As Brother Antonio leads the way, 



BROTHER ANTOWIO. 55 

Guiding their babes with a tender care 
Down the noisy deck and the gangway-stair 

To the hospital grounds so fresh and cool 
Where the gold-fish glance in the sparkling pool, 

And the gentle Sisters day and night 
Watch by the sick on their couches white. 

Many a nook in the graveyard fair 
Is bright with lilies and roses rare ; 

But one wild spot by the river-side 
Is fairest at midnight's solemn tide ; 

And there, where the green palmetto's fan 
Shadows a headstone gray and wan. 

Where the long moss swings and the eddies moan, 
Brother Antonio prays, alone. 



A TEEATT OF ELD 



A TEEATY OF ELD. 

No zephyr played among the terebinths 
That shaded Bethel's side. The silvery boughs 
Of the gray olive-trees that climbed the height, 
The feathery cassia's lithe and pliant stems, 
Even the aspen-leaves, hung motionless 
In the red sunset. The voluptuous breath 
Of orange-odours freighted the still air ; 
The faithful benzoin, clinging to the rocks, 
From leaf and flower distilled its incense fine ; 
The camphire's spicy clusters gave their sweets ; 
But no light-winged convoy came to waft 
The benison of fragrance down the slopes 
To the fair camp of Abraham, where, beneath 
A snow-white tent wrought cunningly with gold 
Shone Sarah's wondrous beauty, rivalling quite 
The single mellow star that smiled upon her 
From the clear eastern sky whose crystal roof 
Arched the tall palms of Hai. 



60 ^ TREATY OF ELD. 

Falling dews 
Baptized the lowly hyssop ; and the goats 
Homeward returning brushed its last late flowers 
And on their silken fleeces bore the faint 
And precious odour past the patriarch's door. 
From out her low black tent, barbaric tricked 
In cloth of crimson woollen, dark-browed Hagar— 
The gift of haughty Pharaoh unto Sarah — 
Came, dusky as the night that fell around her, 
Bearing a jasper vase of spikenard, sealed 
With Egypt's royal signet. Pacing slow, 
Her yellow mantle falling prone apart 
From her smooth shoulders, idly now she watched 
The distant camp of Lot ; now, curious heard 
The mellow twitter of the twilight birds ; 
Till, pausing underneath the clustering vine 
Draping the branches of an oak that sheltered 
Her mistress' broidered covert, she unloosed 
The sandals from her brown and slender feet. 
And, passing on unshod, stood silently 
Wliere the pomegranate with its scarlet flowers 
O'erarched the purple curtain of the tent ; 
Then, lifting from the vase its silver lid. 
She scattered to the air its priceless breath. 
Reverent came Eliezer of Damascus, 



A TREATY OF ELD. 61 

And kneeling with, averted face before 

The curtained opening where Sarah's robe 

Of finest needle-work fell delicate 

Over her jewelled sandals and athwart 

The silken couch that held her comely limbs, 

Swung from a golden censer grateful fumes 

Of cinnamon and calamus and myrrh. 

But naught could tempt the stagnant air to yield 

Even unto her, so fair to look upon. 

The courted balm of freshness, sweeter far 

Than costliest gums. 

Westward, across a glen 
Where smiling waters late had sung between 
The patriarch's camp and Lot's, dark sullen groups 
Stood midst their weary herds just driven in 
From thankless pastures. No benignant cloud 
Since the new moon at Abib had bestowed 
Its blessing, and the raging Lion' now 
Leading the sun, brought fiery Thammuz in. 

' The critical reader will remember that, following the familiar law 
governing the precession of the equinoxes, the sun, in the time of Abra- 
ham, entered the constellation Leo at the beginning of summer — the 
Jewish Thammuz answering to a part of June and July. 



62 A TREATY OF ELD. 

Broad meadows, smiling in the early rains, 

]^ow parched beneath the sevenfold glowing heat 

Gave store no longer even to the ass. 

The mandrakes failed. ISTo pleasant hum of bees 

Prophetic sung of honey in the rocks. 

The purple figs were gathered long ago ; 

IS^ot until Elul, the pomegranate's globes 

Would yield their amber nectar, nor the grapes ; 

And these were meagre food for hungry men. 

The corn from Egypt dwindled in the sacks, 

And the bare olive-trees no promise gave 

Of goodly oil to buy renewed supplies 

From Pharaoh's granaries even should plenty reign 

Until Marchesvan. Morning after morn 

The ruthless Canaanite had dogged their flocks ; 

Day after day the crafty Perizzite 

Hid in some thicket, stealthily had sent 

His barbed an-ow to the timid throat 

Of kid or lambkin ; while the swarthy men 

Who tended Abraham's cattle tauntingly 

Boasted of Egypt. 

Gloomily the thoughts 
Of the proud Syrian herdsmen backward went 
To Padan-Aram with its friendly tribes 



A TREATY OF ELD. 63 

Of pastoral people ; with its corn and wine ; 

Its goodly rivers and its mellow fruits ; 

And bitterly, as down the rocky bed 

Of the dried streamlet the onagra shy 

Essayed to find some pool to slake her thirst, 

They eyed the herds of Abraham gathered fair 

Upon the eastern slope. There quiet stood 

The camels, patient both of thirst and heat. 

Cropping the juicy locusts from the boughs 

No humbler beast might reach. There Pharaoh's kine, 

A princely gift, contented chewed the cud 

Of barley, by the cunning cow-herd stolen 

From the fast-failing stores. There, fiery-eyed, 

Tossing his silken mane and whinnying low 

Beneath the almond-trees, the desert horse 

Ate the sweet lentils from his keeper's hand ; 

While the Egyptian, with triumphant glance 

Scoffing the Syrian, stroked each shining flank 

And laughed derision back. 

The shadows dun 
Gathered on peak and palm ; and one by one. 
The hosts of heaven in silent majesty 
Came forth and lent their glory to the night. 
At Bethel's shadowy foot, erect and firm, 



64 ^ TREATY OF ELD. 

Grasping his almond staff, the patriarch old 
Stood with his face toward Salem. In the west 
The young moon, fast declining, reverently 
Silvered his white hair with her parting beams ; 
Astarte,' holding out her golden sheaf, 
Named unto hina, as with an audible voice. 
The gods his fathers served beyond the flood ; 
While red Arcturus, wheeling on his course, 
Mocked him with treachery to the stately faith 
That reared the walls of Nineveh, and decked 
With marvellous symbols the embattled towers 
And palaces of Babylon. He had turned 
His back on proud Assyi-ia with her grand 
And opulent cities, at the word of God ; 
With Lot, his well-beloved, leading forth 
Women and men and cattle, he had left 
The flowery plains of Haran and the grave 
Of Terah ; he had passed the brazen gates 
Of fair Damascus ; never looking back, 
He had come out into this wilderness 
Not knowing whither, only seeing still 
By faith's clear eye the city with foundations, 
Whose builder and whose maker is the Lord. 
Wandering from Sichem and the plain of Moreh 

' The constellation Virgo was worshipped as Astarte by the Phoenicians. 



A TREATY OF ELD. 65 

In search of greener pastures, Famine sore, 
Tracking their footsteps like the evening wolf, 
Drave them to Egypt. There, abundant grain 
Gave for a season to their murmuring men 
The rod and staff of hope ; but once again 
Gaunt Famine glared aloof from hill and plain. 
And cheerful hearts, erst following lightly on 
Wherever he had led, now sullen sunk, 
Weaiy with hope deferred. 

Night came apace. 
Behind him in the tents the lights went out. 
Leaving the camps in darkness to essay 
The fitful sleep of discontent ; yet still 
Stood Abraham, looking toward the holy hill 
Where dwelt Melchisedek, the King of Peace. 
One after one the chambers of the south 
Hung out their golden lamps o'er Salem's towers ; 
And drinking in the knowledge of the night 
Till Dagon,' sinking low toward Sidon's sea, 
Foretold the morning watch, he scarce had heard 
The heavy tread of Lot who. sleepless, came. 
Preventing the cock-crowing, to rehearse 

' We are told that the beautiful star Fomalhaut, in Pisds Atatralis, 
was adored as Dagon by the Phoenicians. 



6g A TREATY OF ELD. 

With dark, tempestuous brow, the angry strife 
Begun already in the wakening tents. 

Abraham remembered Ur — Ur of the Chaldees. 
There, midst their fathers' honoured sepulchres, 
His brother Haran lay. Lot, Haran's child. 
Fatherless from a babe, had grown beside him 
Unto the dignity of man's estate. 
Together they had learned the wondrous lore 
Of Mazzaroth from the Chaldean seers ; 
Together from the towers of Nineveh 
Had watched Orion's glittering bands, and talked 
With burning hearts of him whose sign they were, 
Nimrod the mighty hunter. They had stood 
By Terah's tomb in Haran's pleasant land ; 
And firmly side by side with girded loins 
Together they had left their heritage 
Obedient to God's mandate. Had they come 
Into this desert only to be filled 
With bitterness ? 

They stood beside the stone 
Where Abraham built an altar to the Lord, 
When first they came from Sichem. Silently 
They watched the enkindling lustre of the night, 



A TREATY OF ELD. 67 



Till the sweet influence of the Pleiades 
Softly the golden day-spring ushered in. 
Then, with mild accent : 



" Let there be no strife, 
I pray thee, between thee and me, nor between 
Thy herdmen and my herdmen," Abraham said, 
" For we be brethren. Is not the whole land 
Before thee ? Separate thyself, I pray thee, 
From me. If thou wilt take the left hand, then 
I will go to the right ; or if thou depart 
To the right hand, then I will go to the left." 



Lot lifted up his eyes. The morning light 
Crowned with its topaz fire the stately line 
Of river-palms that eastward stretched away 
Toward Zoar. There lay Jordan's fruitful shores 
Well watered eveiywhere, even as it were 
The garden of the Lord ; there cities proud, 
Vying with Babylon, lifted to the clouds 
Their haughty turrets. Then Lot chose him all 
The plain of Jordan ; and while yet the dew 
Decked with its diamonds the blue hyssop-flowers 



I A TREATY OF ELD. 

That grew beside the altar ; while the dove 
Hid in her lonely cleft on Bethel's side 
Still sung her morning psalm, in heavenly love 
They parted, each to his allotted way, 
Separate, yet knit in holy brotherhood. 



A story for all time. No Mine and Thine 
Drew the shai-p sword of fratricide ; no taunt, 
Keener than steel, drove with its venomed point, 
That deadlier shaft which rankles in the soul 
Beyond the cure of drugs. Though history write 
The same dark chronicle from Cain to Christ, 
From Salamis to Sedan, 'tis sooth to list 
Sometimes to legends friendlier : to dream 
Of Mispeh's pillar, built on Gilead's slope ; 
Of Penuel's daybreak, when, the blessing won. 
While yet the shadowy morning-dusk required 
No sunrise save the golden light that shone 
'Round the departing angel, Esau came 
And standing where the rippling Jabbok snng 
Its silver tune beneath the olives, gave 
The kiss of peace to Jacob : sooth to know 
That there have been, and so shall always be, 
Virtue and Truth to silence Yice and Shame ; 



A TREATY OF ELD. QQ 

And spirits ready even midst battle's din 
To catch the deathless hymn — 

" How beautiful 
Upon the mountains are the feet of them 
That bring glad tidings and that publish peace." 



LAZ AEUS 



LAZAKUS. 

The morning shone upon Judea's range 

Of rifted marble as a pilgrim pale, 

Journeying from Bethabara, the rough 

And gloomy gorges traversed with a band 

Of earnest followers. Behind them frowned 

The baffled wilderness where vultures preyed 

And hungry tigers crouched. The angered peaks 

Pointed malignant shadows after him 

Like the defiant fingers of a foe ; 

But on before him, bordering the plain 

Of Jericho, serene and flowery slopes 

Knelt down to do him homage. The light wind 

That dallied with the fragrant terebinth 

Or sung to the green fig-tree and the plane 

A careless roundelay, in reverence now 

Hushed its gay melody, and, whispering low 

Among the listening almond-trees, brought down 



74 LAZARUS. 

An ofPering of white blossoms to his feet. 

The brooks that wandered from tiie northern hills 

Seeking the hallowed Jordan, silently 

Floated past barley-fields, or in the shade 

Of ancient olives murmured as in prayer ; 

While, on their fringed borders, hyacinths 

Offered sweet incense from their azure urns. 

And 'neath the plumy palm-trees galbanum 

Sent up its spicy, consecrated breath ; 

For he who passed was Christ. 

"With steady tread 
He walked toward Bethany, while earnestly 
Unto each other His disciples talked 
Of the poor widow and her son, of Nain ; 
And hushed their tones to whispers, as they spake 
Of the great blessing He was soon to give 
The stricken sisters. On His brow divine 
Gathered the beaded sweat of weariness. 
Yet He pressed firmly on, nor paused for rest 
Within the valley skirting Bethany 
Until the triune height of Olivet 
Cast a rebuking shadow toward the fierce 
And frowning Wilderness, as if to say, 
" Get thee behind me, Satan ! " 



LAZARUS. 75 

From the gates 
Came forth a frantic mourner. Her long hair, 
Blacker than Egypt's night-plague, heavy hung 
About her shoulders, and a flood of tears, 
Bitter and salt as Dead Sea water, scathed 
Her olive cheek, whose dark tint darker grew 
Beneath the evening shadows and the cloud 
Of her o'erwhelming grief. The outstretched hand 
Of the Anointed clasping, in a tone 
Wild as the wail of Galilee when winds 
Dash the black waves on rocky Gadara 
And the gray tombs give echo — 

" Lord," she said, 
" Hadst thou been here, my brother had not died." 
Turning away then bitterly, her frame 
Shook like a tall young cedar lashed by storms. 



" I am the Resurrection and the Life." 

Clear as the seraph-tones that spake from heaven 

To Hagar in the wilderness, those words 

Like a deep organ's modulations fell 

Upon the silent air, while the bared heads 

Of the disciples bent in reverence low. 

Gently and long He spake ; and as the dew 



76 LAZARUS. 

Descends on Hermon's blossoms, on her heart 

He poured the blessed balm of tenderness, 

Till the grieved maiden's lithe and rocking form 

Straightened in holy strength. Then looking up 

Calm as the lofty Lebanon when storms 

Have passed away, and the unclouded sky 

Kisses its lifted forehead, she replied, 

" Yea, Lord, I do believe ; " and with a step 

Firm as the patient camel's, bearing on 

Its burthen great and wearisome, she turned 

To go for Mary. 

When the cock crew shrill 
In the dim, waning night-watch, and the moon, 
Leading the morning, with her silver sword 
Parted the clouds and robed the Olive Mount 
With light as with a garment, Martha came 
With Mary and their kindred. O'er the eyes 
Of her meek sister, that had ever worn 
The upturned look which makes us think of heaven, 
The white lids drooped, as in the dewy night 
The pale convolvulus closes. The deep folds 
Of her blue mantle o'er her slender feet 
Trailed heavily, and her slight fingers pressed 
The veil of linen on her marble brow 



LAZARUS. 77 

With a pained, weary movement, as she went 
To meet her Lord. She knelt and kissed His feet. 
Those sinless feet she erst had bathed with tears ; 
And casting back her veil, while the bright waves 
Rippling and golden of her loosened hair 
Swept o'er His dusty sandals, from her lips 
Came the low murmur — 

" Lord, hadst thou been here 
My brother had not died." 

Then silent there. 
She waited for His blessing. 

Jesus wept — 
Wept, though He knew their grief would soon be 

changed 
Into rejoicing at His gracious word ; 
Wept, though He knew His heavenly hands, ere long. 
Within their darkened homestead would again 
Establish and relight the inverted torch. 
O ye who see along life's sterile paths 
The wretched and bereft, ye may not bring 
Back to the parched fields of their barren life 
Hope's radiant spring-time, nor the holy dews 
Of love and trust ; but can ye not extend 
The one, last solace, kindly sympathy ? 



78 LAZARUS. 

" Where have ye laid him ? " 

" Master, come and see." 



They neared the sepulchre. It was a cave, 
And a stone lay upon it. " Take away 
The stone," He said, and lifting high His hands 
He prayed aloud. With grave, inquiring looks 
In earnest reverence now the faithful ones 
Who journeyed with Him gazed into His face. 
Like the aurora and the dusky night 
Waiting the resurrection of the morn 
The sisters watched the open, silent tomb ; 
And when the sun above the grizzly peaks 
Of the dread Wilderness a victor rose, 
And, crowning the calm slopes of Olivet, 
Made a bright shimmer on the raven hair 
Of Martha, and among the golden curls 
Of Mary like a trembling halo lay, 
Jesus cried : 

" Lazarus, come forth ! " 

His voice 
Like the quick influence of the opening spring 
Unlocked the life-streams death had frozen quite ; 



LAZARUS. /Jrg 

And as the sunrise looked into the grave, 

He that was dead came forth, bound hand and foot. 

" Loose him and let him go," the Master said. 

From hands and feet they draw the linen bands, 
The white sudarium from the brow and chin. 

" What hast thou seen, O Lazarus ? " we ask 

In this mad age the child of prying Doubt, 

The mother of Despair — " what hast thou seen ? " 

Not so those gentle Sisters in their joy ; 

Not so the chosen Twelve ; they question not : 

They are content to see the dead alive. 

And he, the newly risen, in silence stands. 
His forehead pallid from the awful shade. 
His eyes aglow from the eternal light — 
Content to wait till Christ, who oped the tomb, 
Shall ope the sealed lips, and bid the tongue 
Kehearse the strange, unutterable song. 

Yet still we clamor : " Tell ! What hast thou seen ? " 



80 LAZARUS. 

Lord God forgive us, beggars that we are ; 
Flaunting the smart scholastic cap and gown, 
Unconscious that we wear a leper's rags ; 
Refusing to accept but what we know. 
When we know nothing ; gathering up the chaff 
And casting to the winds the precious grain 
Garnered from age to age to feed the soul. 
Give us if but the smallest crumb that falls 
From Thy full table, rather than these husks. 
Teach us anew the alphabet of Faith ! 



A G A T H O S. 



AGATHOS; 

A VISION. 

IN HOLY MEMORY OF JOHN KEBLE. 

Feiend of the gentle heart, 
I watch the fluttering skylark soar and sing 
From Fairford's grassy meads, till song and wing 

Are of the heavens a part. 

Beneath these chestnut-trees 
Along the Coin, I see the swallows skim 
And catch the distant sheepfold's tinkling hymn 

Borne on the October breeze. 

The tranquil sky is bright 
With snowy clouds, as if Saint Michael's guard 
In holy bivouac kept their watch and ward 

Till All-Saints' perfect light. 



84 AOATHOS. 

Beside this rustic gate 
I linger lovingly, and, silent, dream 
Of a fair boy, to whom each tree and stream 

"Was friend and guide and mate ; 

To whom the mountain pine, 
The hoary crag, the darkling woodland spring, 
The ant, the bee, the simplest sylvan thing 

Spake with a voice divine ; 

Whose clear subjective eye 
Read Benedicite in the stars of heaven ; 
Traced the gold legend on the clouds of even, 

And from the dappled sky 

Caught the rare power to string 
His harp to those high themes that link his name 
With Ambrose and Augustine in a fame 

The Church shall always sing. 

Through green Saint Aldwyn's lanes 
I reach the gray church-porch. With reverent feet 
I enter, my Confession to repeat 

Before these chancel-panes. 



AGATHOS. 85 

Softly the prismic rays 
Flood the pure altar linen and outpour 
Their rich libation over arch and floor, 

While choir and organ raise 

The blessed Virgin's hymn ; 
And as the tide of swelling harmonies 
Surges through nave and transept, my rapt eyes 

With happy tears are dim. 

Now — joy of all most sweet — 
I see a pilgrim in his surplice stand 
Beside Saint Aldwyn's priest, with lifted hand 

One Credo to repeat ; 

And when in solemn awe 
America with England chants the prayer 
Lighten our darlcness, comes before me there 

The ladder Jacob saw. 

Lighten our darkness, Lord ! 
Night comes apace — grant us Thy way to know 
Undoubting ! Nunc dimittis. Calm I go, 

According to Thy word. 



86 AQATHOS. 

O'er Hampshire's billowy down 
Rise the dark roofs of Winchester. How fleet 
My thoughts, as I approach, with gladsome feet, 

The grand historic town ! 

In the cathedral old, 
I drink the beauty of the lights and glooms, 
The chantries rare, the quaint and storied tombs. 

The stains of green and gold. 

Yon clustered towers beguile 
My wandering gaze. I pass the gates, and walk 
Where Herbert, Donne, and Walton, used to talk 

In cloister, stall, and aisle. 

The morning, rosy-red, 
Flushes this wall. I read the name of Ken 
Scrawled in a schoolboy's autograph, and then 

With lifted heart and head 

I sing, Awake my soul ! 
My spirit mounting on exultant wing 
To those white cloisters where the sainted sing 

Safe in their sheltered goal. 



AGATH08. 87 

But here I may not stay. 
There is one shrine, beloved o'er all the rest, 
Where, ere the swift ship bear me to the "West, 

I long to kneel and pray. 

How soft this noontide light 
On Hursley's quiet vicarage ; how clear 
These English skies that saw " The Christian Year " 

Complete its chaplet bright ! 

Fair is this room, and grave 
"With sober beauty, roof and tree ; yet keep 
My eager feet no more, but let me weep 

Where yonder grasses wave. 

I do not kneel — I cling 
Close to this lowly grave. These All-Saints skies 
Tell me this sod is precious in the eyes 

Of Christ our risen King. 

Then, Jesu, may not we 
Love this dear dust which Thou hast said shall be 
Made glorious in that day when land and sea 

Give back Thine own to Thee ? 



88 AG AT HO S. 

O genius clear and fine, 
Sounding with subtle skill the cosmic deeps 
Of mathematic lore, where Wisdom keeps 

Her secrets most divine ; 

O spirit unbeguiled, 
Neighbour-familiar with the seers of old, 
Bard, singer, artifex, and prophet bold, 

Yet lowly as a child ; 

honey-laden lips, 

O patient faithful heart, O thoughtful brow, 
O starry eyes, hid from our fondness now, 
In death's supreme eclipse ! 

1 lay my tear-stained face 

On this green turf — I break, with reverent touch, 
This sprig of sage — how little, yet how much ! — 
I turn to leave the place — 

And lo ! the silver sound 
Of sweet St. Mary's bell has called me back 
From hallowed contemplation's storied track ; 

I tread no English ground, 



AOATHOS. 89 

I breathe no Englisli air ; 
But sit alone beneath these tropic skies, 
Holding upon my palm, with misty eyes, 

A lock of Keble's hair. 

And thou — what shall I say 
To thee for this thy gift ? My soul's deep springs 
Are strangely stirred, as 'midst my precious things 

These silver strands I lay. 

Kare jewels for the gay, 
Garter and rose for victors ; but to me 
How dearer far, from friends across the sea 

This faded tress of gray ! 

Sim of my soul ! The East 
Drapes her red vestments with the spotless snow 
Of morning's fair cloud-altar. Let us go 

To our communion-feast ; 

And kneeling here alone 
Where Christ's dear saints have knelt with us of yore, 
Where still they kneel, though gliding feet no more 

We hear, nor gentle tone — 



90 AQATHOS. 

Pray that to us be given 
Grace so to follow in their path of light, 
That with them we may sing, in robes of white. 

Sun of my soul, in heaven. 



LA BELLE JUSTINE. 

On field and wood and sea the noontide sun 
Unpitying pours his batteries of fire. 
Along the low horizon, dusky clouds 
Fade swift, a phantom army, while afar 
Looms a red haze, like smoke from pillaged homes 
Burnt and beleaguered. From the bay-trees tall 
The long, weird moss, in shadowy, gray festoons 
Droops prone, as in a picture. Motionless 
The feathery weesatch * spreads its tent of lace ; 
Like an enchantress, o'er the chaparral dense 
The love-vine ' weaves her net, and climbing far 
From branch to branch her amber necklace flings. 
Past the dark forest's thick and tangled fringe 

' A lovely tree of the acacia family. 

2 A parasite of the Southern woods, the stems and flowers— there are 
no leaves— of a pale amber color. Its seeds take root in the ground, but 
the creeper soon fastens on some tree or shrub, and, coiling itself there, 
the root dies and the plant flourishes more vigorously than ever, in the air. 



92 I'A BELLE JUSTINE. 

Of shrub and clambering brier, the dusty road 
Writhes like a serpent in the glaring heat, 
And all is silent, save, in some lagoon. 
The gray crane's hollow trumpet. 

In her arms 
Clasping a sleeping cliild, a wanderer treads 
The hot and dusty highway. Hour by hour 
Her slender feet have trudged since yesterday ; 
Those tender feet, so lately resting soft 
On velvet cushions ; careless now of toil 
Or heat or fear or danger, so they fly 
From that dread city where carousing mirth 
Mocks at disease and death ; where gasping groans 
Gurgle through parching throats that vainly beg 
For water, in the festering dens of want ; 
While reckless revellers in saloon and hall 
Scatter life's priceless jewel-hours away 
Like children tossing pearls into the sea 
Unmindful of their worth. 

She has come forth, 
But not in fear of pestilence, though the Plague 
Stalks with his noiseless shoon from door to door. 
Her hand was readiest the hot brow to bathe, 



LA BELLE JUSTINE. 93 

The feverish lip to cool ; her voice to breathe 

Kind solace in the failing ear, beneath 

Death's hammer deadening. But there is a blight 

More fearful than the fever of the South ; 

A wilder sorrow than the helpless cries 

Of motherless children sobbing in the night ; 

A look more terrible than the spirit's gaze 

Striving to pierce the death-iilm : The gray mould 

That settles on the wrung heart's tattered robes ; 

The moan of faith slow perishing amidst 

The trampled flowers of promise ; and the look 

Stony and cold, which, like a jagged flint, 

Is struck into the soul from eyes that once 

Sent forth the silver shafts of love alone ; 

From these she flies, with trembling, pallid lips 

Stammering a prayer for peace. Oh for one voice, 

One faithful voice of breeze or bird or stream. 

To breathe its benediction ! 

Dim, afar, 
On the horizon's dusky line, arise 
The roofs and chimneys of her native town. 
She sees Saint Saviour's dark asylum towers 
Midst gardens belted by a crystal stream, 
Where witless, woeful creatures restless flit 



94 LA BELLE JUSTINE. 

Or aimless stand beneath the embowering trees. 

O changing years ! whose flowers have bloomed but 

twice, 
But twice, since from yon belfry on the height 
Pealed the glad marriage-bell ; since, bright with hope, 
A joyous escort led a joyous bride 
Along the hill-side path, while, crowding close 
Behind Saint Saviour's hedge, the wretched ones 
Smiled on her, tendering thus their broken thanks 
For many a gentle kindness at her hands. 
The sunlight glancing from the chapel spire 
Pierces her like a sword ; she hurries on ; 
"When, near the asylum grounds, a haggard face 
Rivets her flying feet. Beside the gate, 
A jabbering figure in a faded gown, 
"Wearing upon her head a threadbare scarf 
Fantastic wound, sits rocking to and fro, 
And muttering in the sun, while through her long 
And bony fingers busily she sifts 
The ashen dust, repeating now and then, 
"With low and senseless laughter, the refrain 
La Belle Justine. 

Her own, her household name, 
"Woven into rhymes of compliment and set 



LA BULLS JUSTINE. 95 

To the soft measure of a Tuscan tune ; 
Za Belle Justine, a lay of love and faith 
And twilight peace and calm, babbled and mouthed 
By this poor drivelling thing ! She knows it now, 
The story rumour whispered long ago 
Of a young girl who dwelt in peace beside 
The pebble-paved Amite, the one sole ray 
Brightening a widowed mother's humble cot, 
Till a light summer traveller who had come 
From the gay capital to drink the strength 
Of the great pine-woods and the simple health 
Of sylvan people, set her innocent pulse 
Aflame with songs of passion ; and with gifts- 
Quaint ear-rings wrought of beaten Mexican gold, 
Chains for her throat and amber for her hair- 
Used all a robber's wiles to steal from her 
The priceless pearl of honour. She had wept 
Over this story of a bad man's craft, 
Nor dreamed 'twas he who sung, in after-years. 
La Belle Justine beside her own low porch. 
And won her from her home, a lawful bride. 
Only to find in his, though princely fair, 
A Tophet of despair. 

Transfixed she stands 
Beside the lone dementate ; but again 



96 LA BELLE JUSTINE. 

With quickened pace she hurries on her way. 
Why should she linger ? Balm nor aconite 
Can soothe that fatal sickness, nor kind words 
Awaken in that soul's discordant strings 
One vibrant echo. So, while tremors chill 
Like serpents creep along her totteriog limbs, 
She turns aside into a lonely path 
And with a shudder lifts her startled face 
In thankfulness to heaven that she has still 
The light of reason left. 



The breathless night 
Broods like an incantation as she sits 
Beside the deep, dark river. Sobbino- low 
Beneath the sombre arches of the bridge, 
The waters moan, as if they felt the shame 
That stays her feet from crossing ; bitter shame, 
The bitterer for her innocence ! Yonder lies 
The home which, in her dreary wanderings. 
Drew, like a magnet, her wild feet at first, 
Then changed into a terror, as she neared 
Its peaceful quiet ; so we writhe and shrink 
When Memory on the tablets of the soul 
Electrotypes her contrasts. 



LA BELLE JUSTINE. 97 

To the sky 
Again she turns bewildered. In the south 
The advancing Archer draws his burnished bow, 
Crafty and silent ; glittering Scoi-pio coils 
Beside the crouching Wolf ; while, fold on fold. 
Through tlie star-meadows blossoming with light 
Trails the huge Serpent. Must the very heavens 
Scoff at her wretchedness with symbols dire, 
And mock her with suggestions ? 

Closer still 
She clasps her babe, and shuddering sees the night 
Come darkening down ; when lo ! the child awakes 
Transfigured, and with smile and prattle looks 
Up to the brightening sky. Her tearless eyes 
Instinctive follow his. High overhead 
Vibrates the golden Lyre ; on soaring wings 
The Eagle bears Antinous ; through the boughs 
Of the dark orange-trees the rising moon 
Shows her bright shield, while o'er the waters dark 
Shine the soft evening lamps, and flute-like floats 
A woman's silvery treble, singing sweet, 
" Keep us, O King of kings ! " 



98 LA BELLE JUSTINE. 

The compline bell 
Kings from Saint Saviour's tower. Her baby sleeps 
Safe nestled in the old familiar room ; 
And resting on her mother's heart, Justine 
Hears the brown oriole twittering to the moon 
Beneath the green Veranda's bamboo shade ; 
She sees the white mists stealing from the sea, 
While round the dagger-trees the fire-flies gleam 
And o'er the dewy terrace, incense-like, 
Sweet garden scents arise. 

O King of kings ! 
Inscrutable ! whose hand alike doth guide 
Beetle and bird, alike doth trim the lamps 
Of Lyra and the glow-worm, bid the night 
Teach her its blessed lesson : That each leaf 
And shrub and flower that trembles in the air, 
Each cloud and star and insect silver- winged, 
Unto the sorrowing and blighted breathes 
Its Client pax vobiscum ; and although 
The crawling reptile treachery has left 
Its slime upon the blossoms of her life, 
And the sharp javelins of a destiny 
Cruel and unrelenting have been thrust 
Into her spirit, Thou hast power to give 



LA BELLE JUSTINE. 99 

Strength like the eagle's to her broken wing, 
Till, taught in Nature's temple, she shall reach 
The shining heights where mildews blight no more 
And sorrow's wailing minor key is changed 
To the full anthem of the seraphim. 



SOIS'GS OF THE AFFECTIOTsTS. 




Frulu Ihirpt-r's M 



Copyright, 18811. by Harper & Brothers. 

Bnixnixf; tn' thk ucvk's head. Paye 7. 



BENNY: 

A SOUTHERN CHRISTMAS BALLAD. 



TO 
BENNT, IN PARADISE, 

THIS SIMPLE RHYME, 

INSPIRED BY A LOVELINESS OF TEMPER WHICH RIPENED INTO 

A CHARACTER TOO BEAUTIFUL FOR THIS WORLD, 

IS INSCRIBED BY 

HIS MOTHER. 



BEKN^Y. 

I HAD told him Christmas morning, 

As he sat upon my knee 
Holding fast his little stockings 

Stuffed as full as full could be, 
And attentive listening to me 

With a face demure and mild, 
That good Santa Claus, who filled them, 

Does not love a naughty child. 

" But we'll be good, won't we, Moder ? " 

And from off my lap he slid, 
Digging deep among the goodies 

In his crimson stockings hid, 
While I turned me to my table 

Where a tempting goblet stood 
Brimming high with dainty egg-nog 

Sent me by a neighbour good. 



108 BENNY. 

" God bess Fader — God bess Moder — 
God bess Sister — " then a pause, 

And tlie sweet young lips devoutly 
Murmured — " God bess Santa Caus ! " 

He is sleeping — brown and silken 

Lie the lashes long and meek 
Like caressing, clinging shadows 

On his plump and peachy cheek ; 
And I bend above him, weeping 

Thankful tears, O Undefiled ! 
For a woman's crown of glory. 

For the blessing of a child. 




"SANTA CAUS! COME DOWN UK CIIIMXEY, 
JtAKE MY MODEIl 'HAVE HERSELF!" 



Paye 107. 



A MOTHEK'S PKAYEK. 

They sleep. Athwart my white 
Moon-marbled casement, with her solemn mien 
Silently watching o'er their rest serene, 

Gazes the star-eyed Night. 

My girl, elate or mild 
By turns — as playful as a summer breeze 
Or grave as night on starlit southern seas, 

Sedate, strange woman-child. 

My boy, my trembling star ! 
The whitest lamb in April's tenderest fold, 
The bluest flower-bell in the shadiest wold 

His gentle emblems are. 

They are but two, and all 
My lonely heart's arithmetic is done 
When these are counted. High and holy One, 

O hear me while I call ! 



110 A MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

I ask not wealth nor fame 
For these my jewels. Diadem and wreath 
Soothe not the aching brow that throbs beneath 

Nor cool its fever-flame. 

I ask not length of life 
Nor earthly honours. Weary are the ways 
The gifted tread, unsafe the world's best praise, 

And keen its strife. 

I ask not that to me 
Thou spare them, though they dearer, dearer be 
Than rain to deserts, spring-flowers to the bee. 

Or sunshine to the sea. 

But kneeling at their feet, 
"While smiles, like summer light on shaded streams, 
Are gleaming from their glad and sinless dreams, 

I would my prayer repeat. 

In that alluring land 
The future, where, amidst green stately bowers 
Ornate with proud and crimson-flushing flowers. 

Pleasure with smooth white hand 



A MOTHER'S PRAYER. Ill 

Beckons the young away 
From glen and hill-side to her banquet fair, 
Sin, the grim she-wolf, coucheth in her lair, 

Ready to seize her prey. 

The bright and purpling bloom 
Of nio-ht-shade and acanthus cannot hide 
The charred and bleaching bones that are denied 

Taper and chrism and tomb. 

Lord, in this midnight hour, 
I bring my lambs to Thee. Oh, by Thy ruth. 
Thy mercy, save them from the envenomed tooth 

And tempting poison-flower ! 

Thou crucified and crowned. 
Keep us ! We have no shield, no guide, but Thee I 
Let sorrows come, let hope's last blossom be 

By grief's dark deluge drowned ; 

But lead us by the hand. 
Thou gentlest Guardian, till we rest beside 
The still clear waters in the pastures wide 

Of Thine unclouded Land ! 



SHADY-SIDE.' 

Shady-Side ! 
Where tlie liriodendrons stand 
Every leaf an outstretched hand, 
Every flower a golden chalice 
Held aloft in JS^ature's palace 
With bright nectar overrun 
From the wine- vats of the sun ; 
More than all the world beside 
Do I love thee, Shady-Side ! 

Shady-Side, 
Where, through vistas green and wide, 
Arrows from the sun's red quiver 
Pierce the deep and silent river ; 
Where the wan white lilies lean 
Ghost-like 'neath the willows green, 

* Written, and published in the Memphis Enquirer, May, 1857. 



SHADY-SIDE. 113 

Hiding from the garish light, 
Waiting till the lonely Night 
Shall, with spectral fingers, trim 
Star-lamps in the ether dim — 

More than all the world beside 

Do I love thee, Shady-Side ! 

Shady-Side, 
Where the maple-branches swing. 
While the robins ride and sing ; 
Where beside a cottage-hearth 
Crickets make their social mirth ; 
Where the cattle in the dell 
Rest beside the cool deep well 

'iN^eath the hickory -trees ; 

But 'tis not for these. 
Bird and tree and lily-blossom 
Leaning o'er the river's bosom, 

More than all the world beside 

That I love thee, Shady-Side ! 

Shady-Side, 
Where the bluest, clearest eyes 
Looked their last upon the skies ; 
Where the rosiest, sweetest lips 



114 SHADY-SIDE. 

Purpled in death's dark eclipse ; 
Where the softest dimpled hands 
Stiffened in white muslin bands — 

Where my Jose died. 
Summer flowers sprang up to meet him, 
Summer birds sang loud to greet him ; 
Violets at his violet eyes 
Looked in timid, glad surprise ; 
And the grosbeak, crimson-crested, 
Eagle-eyed and golden- vested. 

Kingly troubadour 
Bringing from far tropic seas 
Strange, entrancing melodies. 

Perched beside the door ; 
Perched where bright mimosa-blooms 
Crowded with their rosy plumes ; 

And, while Jose played, 
Poured between the rippling falls 
Of his baby shouts and calls, 

Sweetest serenade. 
But, one morn, his blue eyes, lifted 
Skyward, saw the flowers that drifted 

Snow-white down heaven's esplanade ; 
Outstretched, beckoning baby-hands 
Wooed him to those Summer-Lands, 



8HADY-8IDR 115 

While a sweeter strain he heard 
Than the song of any bird ; 
So, with mild angelic features 
Turned away from earthly creatures, 
That clear summons following on 
Through the valley dark and lone 

Went he to the sky. 
As of old a holy child, 
Hearing heavenly accents mild, 

Answered, Here am I. 

Shady-Side! 
I have wandered far and wide ; 
Where the trailing arbutus blows 
Close beside the northern snows ; 
Where the bright pomegranate-tree 
Blushes by a southern sea ; 
Where Canopus through the dark 
Skims the waves, a phantom bark ; * 

But I come again 
Where the lilies lean beside 
Mississippi's solemn tide, 

J Looking southward from Galveston Island, the star Canopus is dis- 
tinctly seen, for a short time in winter, a few degrees above the surface of 
the Gulf waters. It is frequently mistaken for the hght of a distant ship. 



116 8HADY-8IDK 

Mourning, by the river's shore, 
Little feet that come no more ; 
And my silent tears are falling, 
As I hear the robins calling 

All day long in vain. 
Every blossom, every tree, 
Whispers of the lost to me ; 
So, to one who loves me best 

I would earnest say — 
When to my pale lips be prest 
Death's cold cup of blessing, pray, 
Dear one, lay my weary head 
Down to rest beside my dead. 

Where, the livelong day, 
Sight and sound from Shady-Side 
Tell how Jose lived and died. 



m SUMMEE. 

I SIT in my still room, 
And gentle noises, music-fraught, steal tlirough 
My spacious window. The soft morning wind 
Rustles the oak-leaves, and the gay birds sing 
Among the hickory -boughs. The kine go forth 
Contented lowing to the shady wood. 
The generous wild-flowers ope their fragrant cups 
Brimming with dew, and busy insects sip. 
Humming, the delicate nectar. All the earth 
Rejoices in awakening, but I bow 
My weary head, and blistering tear-drops blind 
My sight from the fair picture. 

I was wont 
To hear, with humming bees and singing birds, 
A voice whose tones were sweeter far to me 
Than all earth's melodies. First in early morn 



118 IN SUMMER. 

The patter of his little dimpled feet 
Along the gallery-floor, and his glad shout 
Of merry glee as he his sister chased 
With tiny whip upraised, or frolicked wild 
Beside his baby-brother, filled my heart 
With a deep, holy thankfulness and joy 
That none but mothers know. 

All gentle things 
Were teachers and playfellows unto him. 
In the glad spring-time he would sit for hours 
Beneath the tulip-trees and watch the wren 
Building her tiny nest, or try his skill 
To mimic the quaint mocking-bird, whose song 
Held his young spirit spellbound. In the cart 
Homely and rude, it was his highest pride 
To ride far down into the hollows green 
And gather berries to bring home to me ; 
And then, with earnest look, inquire if God 
Had berries and a waggon in the sky ? 
Oh, well do I remember how he came 
But a few days before that fever wild 
Fell on him, and with sober sweetness asked, 
" Mamma, when will God come \ " I little dreamed, 
As gently, with my heart hushed low in prayer. 



IN SUMMER. 119 

I told him that we must be pure and good 

If we would go to play on golden harps 

With God's good angels — music filled his heart 

With pathos deep and strange — I little dreamed 

The radiant convoy would descend so soon 

From their bright dwelling-place to bear him back. 

Heart-broken, and with wild and aching brain, 
I watched his rounded limbs attenuate grow 
Through those long days of anguish. I beheld 
The strange, bright wandering of his large blue eyes, 
And heard his sweet voice murmuring low, as though 
To imseen spirits. Up to God in prayer 
My spirit went for strength — for strength to bear 
This riving of the first bright golden link 
From out my chain of gems ; this sudden snap 
Of one sweet string from my life's chiming harp, 
Erst in such perfect tune. 

Those starry eyes 
Beaming with health a few brief days before, 
Grew dimmer as the death-dew gathered thick 
About his lips, and in low, tremulous tones 
He sang, " O Lamb of God ! " our evening hymn, 
Its simple tune the first his baby-voice 



120 IN SUMMER. 

Had learned to sing— and with a long, deep sigh 
He died. ' 

Three years ago, I pressed him close 

To my proud, throbbing bosom, and my heart 

Brimming with Untold joy sent up its thanks 

To the kind Giver, for my first-born son. 

With my own hands I wrought his garments fair; 

Day after day I watched the brightening grace 

Of his young intellect, the beauteous growth 

Of his symmetric limbs; and in the years 

Of the glad future's clear and shining track 

I saw him in his perfect manhood stand 
My crown of crowns, my life's best blessing. ]>^ow 
With my own trembling hands I wrought his shroud 
And dressed his lifeless body for the grave- 
So different from his cushioned, cradled sleep 
Upon a bed of down. What wonder, then. 
When the glad morning's many voices float 
O'er the awakened earth, and singing winds 

Chant through the casement, that I sit and weep l 

For the soft key-note hushed ? 

I see the wren 
He watched in spring-time as she built her nest 



m SUMMER. 121 

Teaching her young ones now to try their wings 
In the clear waves of air, and to my heart 
It teaches a sweet lesson ; that my child 
On tireless pinions cleaves the cloudless air 
Of an eternal heaven, untossed by storms, 
Undarkened e'er by tempests, and secure 
From the dread fowler's arrows. 

Bleating herds 
He used to follow to the wood's deep shade, 
I see returning to the river's banks 
To browse along its margin, and I think 
Of my fair boy by the good Shepherd led 
Beside still waters, or reclining safe 
On His protecting bosom in the green 
And everlasting pastures. Full of peace 
The song they sing to me, these innocent things. 
The Hand that guides them all, will lead me too. 
Though rough the road, and stormy be the skies. 
To the calm shelter of my child at last. 



1 



DOES HE LOVE ME? 

Pretty robin at my window, 

Welcoming the day 
With thy loud and liquid piping, 

Read my riddle, pray. 
I have conned it waking, sleeping, 

Yexed the more for aye. 
Thou'rt a wizard, pretty robin — 

Does he love me — say ? 

Lady violet, blooming meekly 

By the brooklet free, 
Bending low thy gentle forehead 

All its grace to see. 
Turn thee from the wooing water, 

WTiisper soft, I pray, 
For the winds might hear my secret — 

Does he love me — say ? 



DOES HE LOVE ME? 123 

Star that througli the silent night-tide 

Watchest over him, 
"Write it with thy golden pencil 

On my casement dim. 
Thou art skilled in Love's sweet magic, 

Tell me then, I pray, 
Now, so none but I may read it — 

Does he love me — say ? 



HESPERUS. 

I CANNOT tell the spell that binds thine image 

Forever in my heart, 
Nor why thy presence seems to my existence 

Its very, vital part. 

But yesterday a weary-hearted stranger 

Chance-hindered in thy way, 
To-day with thee through thought's wide realm a ranger, 

All sorrow chased away. 

As the clear sunlight drives away the tempest, 

So from thy gentle face 
The light of heavenly truth illumes my spirit 

With its celestial grace ; 

Calming my billowy soul to holy quiet. 
Till from all else afar 



HESPERUS. 135 

I turn to thee, and grieve, when thou art absent, 
Like night without a star. 

I read thy favourite books, and trembling linger 

Over each pencilled line, 
Weeping glad tears to find at last one spirit 

With faith and dreams like mine ; 

Faith in humanity's divine perfection 

And dreams of that fair time 
When God shall see in us His own reflection, 

Cleansed from all stain and grime. 

I hear thy voice from this my lonely chamber 

Amidst the festive throng. 
And my heart leaps, as fountains cavern-hidden 

Leap to the wood-bird's song. 

Thy quick, light foot-fall breaks the twilight stillness, 

My pain is all beguiled ; 
I meet thy gaze, electrical and tender. 

And am again a child. 

Strangely my soul is hourly drawing toward thee. 
Patient of toil or care. 



126 HESPERUS. 

If, daily duty done, thou sit beside me 
In the calm evening air ; 

In the calm evening, when from earthly fetters 

My spirit finds release. 
And rests beneath the wings of that fair angel 

Whose gentle name is Peace. 

I cannot tell the spell that binds thine image 

Forever in my heart ; 
I only know thou art to my existence 

Its very, vital part. 



01^ THE BKIDGE. 

(From Chateaubriand.) 

'Tis midnight, and you sleep ;, 
You sleep, and I— I am about to die ! 
What do I say ? Perhaps you watch and weep— 
For whom ? Hell's friendlier tortures I will try. 

To-morrow, when upon your lover's arm 
Satiate with joy in search of change you go, 
Lean for a moment from the bridge, and see 
How calm these waters flow. 



ABSENT. 

Why do I sing no more ? The leaping fountains 
That laugh in glee when Summer paints the flowers, 

Perish and dib when with her glorious beauty 
She wanders southward to serener bowers. 

Why do I sing no more ? The wild-bird warbling 
Beneath the splendid midnight skies of June, 

Hushes her love-song, when their starry glory 
Is blinded by the work-day glare of noon. 

Why do I sing no more ? The evening zephyr 
That plays with unseen fingers on the air, 

Filling the forest with his witching story 
Of passion for the wild-rose listening there — 

Sinks into silence when the grim November 
Blasts the fair blossom on her royal stem ; 



ABSENT. 129 

Or wailing wild among the leafless branches, 
Sings only Sorrow's broken requiem. 

And I — the glad, low tones thy presence wakened, 
How can I tune them, now thou art away ? 

As well invoke the spirit of the fountain 

"When Winter rules where Spring was wont to play. 

Through the still midnight, sitting at my window 

With face uplifted to the starry skies, 
I gaze and gaze, until their silver glances 

Seem the calm splendour of thy radiant eyes ; 

And listening still, the while my tears are falling, 
To the soft cadence of the murmuring breeze, 

I hear again thy low and tender whispers 
Floating beneath the dim and shadowy trees. 

Give me again the blessing of thy presence — 
Give me the summer brightness of thine eyes. 

And like the breeze, the bird, the leaping fountain, 
My soul in song will make its glad replies. 



WAITIl^G. 

Waiting for health and strength ; 
Counting each flickering pulse, each passing hour, 
And sighing when my weary frame at length 

Sinks like a drooping flower. 

Waiting for rest and peace ; 
Rest from unravelling life's perplexing woof ; 
Peace from the doubts that crouch like hidden foes 

And glare at me aloof. 

Waiting for absent eyes. 
Bright as the sunrise to the lonesome sea ; 
Lovely as life to youth's expectant gaze. 

And dear, next heaven, to me. 

Thou who didst watch and pray, 
Quicken the pulse, bid doubt and weeping flee ; 
Or if these must abide, still let me cry. 

Bring back the loved to me ! 



LEONID AS. 

Thou art not dead. Still, as I wait and listen, 
Comes the weird influence of thy radiant eyes, 

And like a lone flower trembling to the night-wind 
My full heart thrills to hear thy low replies. 

Thou art not dead. Still, in the sober twilight 
I sit with folded hands the while there comes 

Thine image through the dim and flickering fire-light 
With saintly lustre lightening all the glooms. 

Thou'rt with me always. When the watchful Mid- 
night 

Stands by my lonely window, crowned with stars. 
Thy fingers, O adored and strange magician, 

Ope the dark dungeon that my spirit bars ; 

And taking in thine own my hands confiding. 
Beneath clear skies, beside clear shining streams 



132 LEONIDAS. 

Where deathless voices soft and low are singing, 

The long night through we walk the world of dreams. 

Day with its thousand cares around me presses ; 

Night with its thousand memories shuts me in ; 
Life with its dangers and its dark distresses 

Threatens with sorrow or invites to sin ; 

But girding on anew my daily burthen, 
"With patient spirit whence no doubts arise, 

Remembering all thy tender, holy counsel 
I tread the way that leads me to the skies. 

There where no frowning fortresses aire builded, 
There, where no pilgrim feet are tired and torn, 

We side by side will roam the heavens together 
Shod with the sandals by the immortal worn. 



OCTODECIMA. 

NOEA, BORN IN JTNE. 

Cleah as her cloudless eyes 
O'er cliff and glen and mountain's distant line 
Undimmed by haze or mist, serenely shine 

The deep-blue summer skies. 

Fair as her sunny hopes, 
The red rose bursts, the lilies white unfold. 
The lotos lifts her chalice lined with gold, 

The star-flowers gem the slopes ; 

And leaping waters play. 
And gay winds pipe, and lark and linnet sing 
As if each innocent and happy thing 

Would greet her natal day. 



134 OCTODECIMA. 

We bring her gentle gifts : 
Bright blossoms with their loving type and token ; 
Lichens and mosses ; curious crystals broken 

From hoary cavern-rifts ; 

Music of bard and seer ; 
Legend and classic song, and ancient rhymes 
Echoed from far phantasmal century chimes 

To her enraptured ear ; 

And I — I steal apart, 
As scanning each with loving eyes she stands, 
Her happy talk, like ripples over sands. 

Cheering my thirsty heart. 

O Saviour meek and mild ! 
Cradled, Thyself, upon a mother's knee, 
I kiss Thy precious feet — I beg of Thee 

All blessings for my child ! 

Thou Shadow of a Rock 
Within a weary land ! Protect her life 
From misery's desert heat, from sin's mad strife, 

From sorrow's lightning-shock. 



OGTODECIMA. 135 

Love's fairest fruit and flower 
Give unto her, and friendship's holiest ties ; 
That her existence, like these shining skies, 

May brighten every hour ; 

Till, calm from mom to night, 
Her day of earth a golden day may end 
Fairest at setting, and forever blend 

With heaven's unfading light. 

Yet nay. Too much I ask, 
And am too fearful. Only they attain 
The evening welcome who, with patient pain, 

Fulfil the noonday task. 

Give to her spirit, then. 
Thy rod and staff to walk the ways of life, 
Thy shield and buckler to ward off the strife — 

Th' unholy strife of men. 

Each precious lesson point 
That earth's meek creatures teach. On sea and land 
Show how each high or lowly thing Thy hand 

With wisdom doth anoint. 



136 OCTODECJMA. 

Whether her lines be cast 
In the choked city's panting thoroughfare, 
Or 'midst the blessed woodland's treasures rare, 

Or by the ocean vast — 

Oh, tune her subtle ear. 
Pained by the discord of earth's warring notes, 
To know the heavenly prophecy that floats 

From brook and bird-song clear ; 

Show to her serious eyes 
The golden legend writ as in a book 
Upon the steadfast mountain-tops that look 

Forever toward the skies ; 

And bid the ocean's roar 
Tell her of harpers harping with their harps 
Where shines the light of God, where sorrow warps 

The burthened soul no more. 

So may her heart, replete 
With holy courage, seek the victor's crown. 
Till, all her journey done, she shall sit down 

With Mary at Thy feet. 



A SEA-SHELL. 

It tells, in its lonely sighs, 

In its miserere wild. 
Its love for a far-off ocean-home, 

This exiled ocean-child. 

I send it unto thee. 

Type of my own full heart, 
That sings and sighs for its native land, 

Though doomed to dwell apart. 

And when in thy listening ear 

Its plaintive music rings, 
Let it tell of the love for thee and thine, 

That flows from my heart's deep springs. 

10 



SEA-WEEDS. 

Friend of the thoughtful mind and gentle heart, 

Beneath the citron-tree — 
Deep calling to my soul's profounder deep — 

I hear the Mexique Sea. 

White through the night the spectral surf rides in, 

Along the spectral sands, 
And all the air vibrates, as if from harps 

Touched by phantasmal hands. 

Bright in the moon the red pomegranate-flowers 

Lean to the yucca's bells. 
While with her chrism of dew sad Midnight fills 

The milk-white asphodels. 

Watching all night— as I have done before — 

I count the stars that set, 
Each writing on my soul some memory deep 

Of pleasure or regret ; 



SEA-WEEDS. 139 

Till, wild with heart-break, toward the east I turn, 

"Waiting for dawn of day ; 
And chanting sea, and asphodel, and star. 

Are faded, all, away. 

Only within my trembling hands I hold 
These bright weeds from the sea — 

Flounce, feather, ribbon, crimson, green, and gold — 
Brought unto me by thee. 

Fair bloom the flowers beneath these northern skies, 

Pure shine the stars by night. 
And grandly sing the grand Atlantic waves 

In thunder-throated might : 

Yet, as the sea-shell in her chambers keeps 

The murmur of the sea, 
So the deep echoing memories of my home 

Will not depart from me. 

Prone on the page they lie, these gentle things. 

As I have seen them cast 
Like a drowned woman's hair along the sands 

When storms were overpast ; 



140 SEA-WEEB8. 

Prone, like the heart's affections, cast ashore 

In Sorrow's storm and blight. 
Would they could die, like sea-weed ! Bear with me, 

But I must weep to-night. 

Tell me, again, of summer fairer made 

By spring's precursing plough ; 
Of joyful reapers gathering tear-sown sheaves ; 

Talk to me — will you ? — now. 



DEIED MOSSES. 

Child of the sylvan hills, 
I hear afar, down the rocky glen, 
The song of the robin and the wren, 

The tinkle of glancing rills. 

The oak-leaves overhead 
Murmur like fond familiar lips. 
While, stealing athwart their green eclipse, 

The sun, to my mossy bed 

Comes like an alchemist. 
Setting a gem in the daisy's hair 
And crowning the timid violet fair 

With gold and amethyst. 

The playful woodland air 
Sings in mine ear like a happy child ; 
Reddens my cheeks with his kisses wild, 

And tangles my loosened hair. 



142 DRIED MOSSES. 

I see the squirrel leap 
From the maple tall to the hickorj-tree ; 
The spotted toad, renowned as he, 

Dives into the river deep ; 

While, on thfe reedy shore, 
The oriole pipes, and the grosbeak proud 
Eyes him askant ; I laugh aloud, 

I am a child once more. 

The peacock blows his horn 
In the glen where the tall stone chimneys rise ; 
The black crow caws from the amber skies 

To the scarecrow in the corn. 

I hear my mother sing 
Her hymn by tlie open cottage-pane ; 
My brother whistles along the lane, 

To the partridge by the spring. 

Two faces, heavenly fair, 
In childish innocence look out 
From the elder-thicket ; my sisters shout ; 

I bound to meet them there — 



DRIED MOSSES. X43 

And bird and flowery land 
Vanish awaj. I sit in tears 
Holding these silent souvenirs, 

Dried mosses in mj hand. 

Along these sunny skies, 
Cloudless and golden though they be, 
I see no home-bird wander free, 

No cottage-chimney rise ; 

And with a yearning pain 
I think of the bright Kentucky rill 
That sings by the graves on the lonely hill, 

And the broken cottage-pane. 

Though lovingly for me 
Fresh fountains flow in stranger lands. 
Fresh flowers are culled by stranger hands. 

Fresh fruits from friendship's tree — 

That streamlet always sings 
Of the sunken roof and the silent dead. 
Of brambles that choke the violet's bed. 

Of childhood's perished springs. 



144 DRIED MOSSES. 

Child of the sjlvan height, 
Whose gentle fingers culled for me 
These fairy creatures of rock and tree, 

My thaukful heart to-night 

Goes to the pleasant South, 
To that fair homestead where thy head 
ISTestles in peace on its downy bed ; 

I kiss thy sweet young mouth ; 

And kneeling by thy side. 
Soft, lest I break thy happy sleep. 
Earnest, as flows yon river deep, 

I pray to Him who died : 

Keep her, O Undefiled, 
White as the lilies of the field ; 
From sorrow's blast her pure heart shield. 

From sin's sirocco wild. 

Yet nay — each human way 
Hath its dark passes. Be her lamp ; 
Bid Thine archangel, Lord, encamp 

Around her, night and day : 



DRIED MOSSES. 145 



So may she reach that land 
Whither the loved are beckoning now, 
The morning star upon her brow, 

The palm-branch in her hand. 



A REQUIEM. 

Leaves of tlie autumn-time, 
Crimson and golden, opalesque and brown, 
To this new grave-lieap slowly rustling down, 

Come with your low, low chime. 
And sing of her who, spring and summer past. 
In her calm autumn sought that shore at last. 

Where there is no more rime. 

Flowers of the autumn days. 
Bright lingering roses, asters white as snow. 
And purple violets on the winds that go 

Sighing their sad, sad lays. 
Tell, with your sweet breath, how her spirit fair 
Through life's declining, kept its fragrance rare 

Fresher amidst decays. 



A REQUIEM. 147 

Birds of the autumn eves 
Warbling your last song ere ye plume your wing 
For milder climates, stay awhile and sing 

Where the lone willow grieves ; 
Tell of a nest, secure from storm and blast. 
Where her white wing, the shadowy valley past, 

Rests under heavenly eaves. 

Stars of the autumn night. 
Crowned warders on the ramparts of the skies, 
With your bright lances, holy mysteries 

Upon her gravestone write : 
Tell of the new name given to the free 
In that fair land beyond the silent sea. 

Where Christ is Lord and Light. 

God of the wind and rain, 
Seed-time and harvest, summer-time and sleet, 
Stricken and woful, at Thy kingly feet 

We bow amidst our pain. 
Help us to find her, where no falling leaf, 
No parting bird, doth tell of death and grief, 

Where Thou alone dost reign ! 



CELESTINE. 

Cellie, little Cellie ! 

Underneath the skies , 
There is not a bluebell 

Bluer than her eyes ; 
Not a lakelet margined 

By a daintier fringe 
Than her long soft lashes 

"With their chestnut tinge. 

Cellie, little Cellie ! 

Through the golden air 
Not a sunbeam dances 

Sunnier than her hair ; 
Curling o'er her forehead, 

Or, in roguish grace, 
Pulled by baby-fingers 

All across her face. 



CELESTINK 149 



Cellie, little Cellie ! 

Through the flowery South 
!N^ot a rose is blowing 

Kosier than her mouth ; 
Pouting proud, the Princess ! 

Laughing next, to show. 
With her Grace's kindness, 

Four teeth in a row. 

Cellie, little Cellie ! 

Through the meadows sweet 
Not a lambkin gambols 

Whiter than her feet ; 
Dainty feet ! but palsied 

By a baleful spell 
Since that fiery sickness 

Fiercely on her fell. 

Cellie, little Cellie ! 

How we watched and wept 
While the fever-vulture 

To her vitals crept ; 
Day by day beseeching 

That the risen King 



150 CELE8TINE. 

Might vouclisaf e to spare us 
So beloved a thing ! 

Cellie ! — Holy Saviour, 

Who from death's dark sea 
Safely back hast brought her 

With us yet to be ; 
By her baby patience 

Teach us lessons wise, 
So Thou mayst receive us 

With her to the skies. 



MY QUEEN. 

J. E. K. 

Tall is my queen ; 
Lithe as the hly's graceful stem 
And fair as her snow-white diadem, 

Mj Josephine. 

Rare is my queen ; 
My lotos, in her beauty's dower 
Rivalling the rare Yictoria flower, * 

My Josephine. 

Bright is my queen ; 
The first bright star in the violet skies 
Borrows its light from her violet eyes— 

My Josephine. 

Gay is my queen ; 
Birds that all day in the woods rejoice 
Their gamut have caught from her warbling voice- 

My Josephine. 



152 ^y QUEEN. 

Kind is my queen ; 
Kind as the breeze at the noontide hour, 
Kind as the dew to the fainting flower — 

My Josephine. 

True is my queen ; 
Glad with the glad^ — Christ's word to keep — 
And ready to weep with them that weep, 

My Josephine. 

O silvery sheen 
Of sky ! O birds, O lilies white, 
Bless with your breath, your song, your light. 

My Josephine ! 

And ye, I ween 
Dearest of all the Angelic Nine * 
Seraphim, guard w'ith your sleepless eyne 

My Josephine ; 

Till, pearl-serene, 
She stand, heaven's light in her ransomed eyes. 
At the jasper door of Paradise — 

My Josephine ! 

' " Les seraphins, 6 Dieu, les esprits d'amour, qui sont les plus sublimes 
de tous les celestes escadrons, ceux que vous mettez le plus pres de vous." 

— BOSSUET. 



AN INYOCATIOK. 

Beneath the tulip-tree, 

O spirit I adore, 
Come while the evening shadows hifle 

The clouds on yonder shore. 
Above the waters dim, 

Night like a dark bird broods, 
And, like a mourner, the low wind 

Sobs in the lonely woods. 

From human love, my soul 

In silent sorrow turns ; 
And while Arcturus through the trees 

Like a red watch-fire bums. 
With lifted face I cry 

Beneath the tulip-tree, 

O spirit of the beautiful, 

Vouchsafe to dwell with me ! 
11 



154 AN INVOCATION. 

Love's flowers are very sweet, 

But blossom to decay ; 
Love's singing birds are gay and bright, 

Yet mocking-birds are tliey. 
Twine witb thy spirit-hands 

White araaranths for my head. 
And sing thy deathless spirit-songs 

Around my midnight bed. 

Bend low thy blessed eyes ! 

They have no human ray 
To mock me with the treacherous light 

That kindles to betray. 
Oh, fold thy pinions white 

Around my weary heart. 
And say, though human love forsake. 

Yet thou wilt ne'er depart. 

Teach me the sacred lore 
That whispers in the trees ; 

That writes within the lily's cup 
Its strange, deep mysteries ; 

Lift to my thirsting lips 

The cup of Thought divine ! 



AN INVOCATION. -.gg 

Its pure cool draught is sweeter far 
Than Love's red, flaming wine. 

O rare and radiant guest, 

O spirit I adore, 
While sombre evening shadows hide 

The clouds on yonder shore. 
With lifted face I cry 

Beneath the tulip-tree, 
Thou spirit of the beautiful, 

Forever dwell with me ! 



DOES HE KEMEMBER? 

Does he remember ? 'Twas a golden smnmer, 
Summer among the proud, pine-crested hills, 

"Where the gay south wind, idle, playful hummer, 
Laughed, like a truant, with the garrulous rills. 

Young vetches, clambering up the broad-leaved guelder, 
Peeped roguish, like the blue eyes of a child, 

And 'neath the white tent of the blooming elder. 
Stood the wakerobin like ati Arab wild. 

Does he remember ? Nature, holy teacher ! 

Told through each living thing her lofty lore ; 
But one voice only answered the beseecher 

That still had begged a benefaction more. 

Kind words he spake — kind words, though never lov- 
ing— 
Which, o'er the billowy After, drear and blind. 



DOES HE REMEMBER ? 



157 



Came softly back, like sea-gulls to the roving, 
Telling of all the green land left behind. 

On her young forehead, sorrow-sore and throbbing. 
She wears the prickly Calvary-crown of fame ; 

And praises follow all her steps, but sobbing 

Through the blank night, she breathes one hoarded 
name. 

Thinking how gladly she would yield her title 
To fame's ambrosial food and brilHant bays. 

If she might feast her soul on one requital, 
The simple therf -bread of his earnest praise. 



TWENTY-ONE. 

Bright summer sun, to-day 
Mount with thy glancing spears, a cohort proud, 
O'er cliff and peak, and chase each threatening cloud. 

Each gathering mist, away. 

Fair, fragrant summer flowers, 
Lily and heliotrope and spicy fern, 
Exhale your sweets from leaf and petalled urn 

Throughout the golden hours. 

Thou deep-voiced western wind, 
The stately arches of the forest fill 
Till oak and elm to thine cmdante thrill 

As mind replies to mind. 

Take up the song, and sing, 
O summer birds, until the joyous strains 
King through the hills, chant in the blooming plains. 

Gurgle in brook and spring. 



TWENTY-ONE. 159 

And thou, river deep, 
Send from the shore thy message calm and plain, 
As, bearing ship and shallop to the main, 

Thy mighty currents sweep. 

Sing, while the golden gate 
Swings open, and reveals the thronging hopes 
Winged and crowned, that crowd the flowery slopes 

Of manhood's first estate. 

Yet soft and low ! The door 
Is closing, as ye sing, on childhood's meads ; 
The garrulous trump of youth's heroic deeds 

Is hushed f orevermore ; 

And shining shapes that blaze 
Like lodestars, with occasion wait, to lure 
The dazzled soul o'er crag and fell and moor 

From wisdom's peaceful ways. 

Tell him, O sunshine bright. 
How clouds of lust and mists of evil thought 
By chastity's white beams are brought to nought 

Through virtue's silent might. 



160 TWENTY-ONE. 

Tell him, ye blossoms sweet, 
How Charity divine her perfume rare 
Exhales alike in pure or noxious air. 

With holy love replete. 

O brook and bird and spring, 
Babble your simple sermon ; say, Behold 
Contentment better far than gems or gold 

Or crown of sceptred king. 

Tell him, thou deep-voiced wind. 
How a brave, earnest spirit may awake 
Responsive thought till distant cycles take 

Their orbits from his mind ; 

And thou, O river wide. 
Tell how a steady purpose gathers strength 
From singleness of aim until at length 

On its resistless tide 

It bears both great and small 
With equal, silent, comprehensive love 
To that great sea whose calm no storm can move, 

God's grace o'erarching all. 



TWENTY-ONE. 161 

So may his spirit clear, 
Untroubled by the scoff, the sneer, the sting 
Of different creeds, lind heaven a real thing, 

And walk with seraphs here. 

Thou great Triune ! Thy sign 
Is on his forehead ; may he, manful, fight 
Under Thy banner till upon his sight 

Fair Paradise shall shine ; 

Till, crown and palm-branch won, 
He shall before Thee stand without a fear. 
Wearing the bright and morning star, and hear 

The Master say, Well done ! 



HINES. 

A STORY OF NEW 0ELEAN8. 

He sat on the humble door-step ; 

His hand, which held a cup, 
Looked like a crazy jackknife 

With long blades half closed up. 
His thin limbs, all distorted, 

Were tangled in a gown, 
And from his knotted shoulders 

A pinafore hung down. 

Light-hearted, laughing children 

Were playing in the street, 
And mock-birds in the live-oaks 

Made music wild and sweet. 
He tried to join their chorus, 

But from his palsied tongue 
Came only wordless discord. 

As if by witches sung. 



HINES. 

The boys played ball and hop-scotch ; 

They flew the paper kite, 
And hallooed as its white wings 

Grew dark upon their sight. 
All, all but poor Hines, shouted ; 

Their fun was not for him, 
For strange and ruthless fetters 

Enchained him mind and Hmb. 

Through all his childish summers 

Beneath the cottage-eaves 
Each morn his mother placed him. 

Where, shimmering through the leaves, 
The sunshine like an angel 

Came down and kissed his head, 
And vestal orange-blossoms 

Their incense round him shed. 

He laughed to see the sunshine, 

He nodded to the trees ; 
But most of all, young children 

His idiot heart could please. 
His thin blood, as he watched them, 

Would strangely flush his cheek. 



163 



164 HINE8. 

And strangely would his sealed lips 
Essay their joy to speak. 

Now whining he pursued them, 

With sad and witless stare, 
As down the green lane flying 

Their laughter filled the air ; 
When, suddenly, they halted — 

" Poor Hines ! " they said, and then 
Back to the vine-clad cottage 

They quickly came again. 

One bade the boy good-morrow ; 

Another smoothed his hair ; 
Another filled with water 

The cup he offered there ; 
While one bright, blue-eyed urchin 

Stepped through the open door 
And brought him out a toy-whip 

He could not reach before. 

Then to their sports returning. 
They frolicked glad and free. 

And poor Hines cracked his toy-whip 
And chattered in his glee ; 



HINES. 165 



While through the bowery lattice 
The morning sea-breeze sung, 

And golden flecks of sunlight 
Lay all the leaves among, 

O sweet, unconscious teachers ! 

Ye prove that all of heaven 
From our strange, sinful natures 

Has not been darkly riven ; 
And that while little children 

Are left below the skies, 
We may be safely guided 

To our lost Paradise. 



ELISHA KEN^T KANE 

A BALLAD FOE MY CHILDKEN. 

Little ones at my knee, 

The New-Year chimes ring sweet, 
Silver-clear on the frosty air 

The blithe New- Year to greet. 
But while the shouting world 

Its vivat sends to heaven, 
List as I tell you a stirring tale 

Of buried Fifty-seven. 

Once, when on glittering skates 

Blithe Januarius came, 
Fleet as a reindeer leaving far 

His polar halls aflame. 
Over the wintry hills, 

Beside the frozen streams, 



ELISHA KENT KANE. I67 

One story strange he told by day, 
One tale by nigbt in dreams. 

Wherever an icicle hung, 

"Wherever the snow lay white, 
Wherever the gleaming boreal fires 

Lit up the winter night ; 
On every icy rift. 

On every frosted pane, 
With the busy skill of a weird fakir 

He wrote the name of Kane. 

Kings on their jewelled thrones, 

Grave councillors of state 
Trying, in diplomatic scales, 

The nations as by weight, 
Each politic scheme forgot, 

Listened, with eyes grown bright, 
As Winter whistled the epic grand 

Of that savage arctic fight. 

He fought with sickness gaunt. 

He grappled with hunger fierce ; 
He stifled, with firm, courageous words, 

Dark Mutiny's muttered curse ; 



168 BLISHA KENT KANE. 

Seeking, 'midst cnmching bergs 

"Where the white bear growled alone, 

Some token for her whose grief had roused 
The nations with its moan. 

He fought with the drifting floes, 

He fought with the hummocks wild, 
Looking to God, 'midst the trackless snows, 

With the heart of a little child ; 
And bursting the silent gate 

To the land of dark and dole, 
A trophied conqueror he returned 

"With the secret of the pole. 

A victor he came ; but the spears 

Of the monster he defied 
Had pierced to the core of his brave young heart, 

And chilled its crimson tide ; 
So, while the welcome home 

Still rang from mount and lea, 
He voyaged out to that Unknown Land 

Where there is no more sea. 

The Genoese, who first 

Made strange, adventurous way 



ELISHA KENT KANE. 159 

Over the seas, had golden dreams 

Of beautiful, far Cathay ; 
And, fired with the magical show 

Of hlossoming grove and plain, 
With an eager heart and a flashing eye 

Sailed over the pathless main. 

But he, our martyr brave. 

There lay before his eye 
Only a sullen, desolate waste 

"Where bones of dead men lie : 
Wastes where no sound is heard 

But the crash of the drifting ice, 
No language writ, save, quaint and grim, 

The frost-work's wild device. 

Victors from battle-fields 

Have come with banners gay. 
But none with a braver heart than he 

Whose story I tell you to-day. 
Little ones at my knee, 

Remember its lesson plain. 
And keep in your hearts, as a precious thing, 

The memory of Kane. 
12 



AMABAKE ME. 

"When the white snow left the mountains, 
When the spring unsealed the fountains, 
"When her eye the violet lifted 
"Where the autumn leaves had drifted 
'Neath the budding maple-tree, 
Amabare me. 

Now the summer flowers are dying, 
Now the summer streams are drying ! 
Yet I cry, though lone I linger 
Where the autumn's wizard finger 
Burns along the maple-tree, 
Amabare me ! 

As the wild-bird, faint and dying. 
Follows summer faithless flying, 



AMABARE ME. 17I 

So my heart, doubt's blank air beating 
Broken-winged, is still repeating 
While it follows, follows thee, 
Amabare me. 

Soon will "Winter, gaunt and haggard. 
Shroud a new grave, sodless, beggared ; 
Still, though not a flower be planted, 
Not a requiem be chanted. 
Not an eye with tears be laven. 
On a gray stone will be graven 
'Neath the leafless maple-tree, 
Amabare me. 



DEEAMS. 

Dreams of a summer land 
Where rose and lotos open to the sun, 
Where green savane and misty mountain stand 

By lordly valour won. 

Dreams of the earnest-browed 
And eagle-eyedj who late, with banners bright, 
Rode forth in knightly errantry, to do 

Devoir for God and Right. 

Shoulder to shoulder, see 
The crowding columns file through pass and glen ! 
Hear the shrill bugle ! list the turbalent drum 

Mustering the gallant men ! 

Resolute, year by year. 
They keep at bay the cohorts of the world ; 
Hemmed in, yet trusting to the Lord of Hosts 

The Cross is still unfurled. 



DREAMS. 173 

Patient, heroic, true — 
Counting but tens where hundreds stood at first, 
Dauntless for right, they dare the sabre's edge, 

The bomb-shell's deadly burst ; 

While we, with hearts made brave 
By their proud manhood, work and watch and pray 
Till, conquering Fate, we'll greet with smiles and tears 

The conquering ranks of gray ! 

O God of dreams and sleep ! 
Dreamless they sleep — 'tis we, the sleepless, dream ! 
Defend us, while our vigil dark we keep, 

Which knows no morning beam ! 

Bloom, gentle spring-tide flowers, 
Sing, gentle winds, above each holy grave. 
While we, the women of a desolate land. 

Weep for the true and brave ! 



BIETHDAY-GIFTS. 



FOR NORA. 



Pearls for my pearl ; 
"White as the snow of her gentle breast, 
Pure as the thoughts in her heart at rest — 

Pearls for my pearl. 

Flowers for my flower ; 
Lilies, fresh culled where the water flows ; 
Roses, to crown my one sole rose — 

Flowers for my flower. 

Birds for my bird ; 
To twitter and list, with eye askant, 
Her rivalling voice in song or chant — 

Birds for my bird. 



BIRTHBA Y-GIFTS. 

God of the lone ! 
Left in mj life's fair morning-tide 
With but this child, I crouch beside 

Thy mercy's throne ; 

And folding close 
Her curly head on my broken heart, 
Checking my sobs lest I make her start 

With my bitter woes, 

To Thee I cry ! 
Long is the way, and black and wide 
Gathers the tempest. Be our Guide, 

Thou Lord Most High — 

Till from the swirl 
Of earth, secure in heaven's repose, 
Angels bring roses for my rose, 

Pearls for my pearl ! 



175 



COR UNUM, VIA UNA. 

Say this, beloved, of me, 
"When from mj dead heart Southern roses spring 
The whole year round where bee and mock-bird sing 

Their low sweet jubilee — 

Say this : Through life's strange day 
Of joy and sorrow, studying to be true, 
With bleeding feet stern duty to pursue, 

She kept one heart, one way. 



ADRIAN. 

Cheery as summer sunshine, 

Pure as the fresh-fall'n snow, 
Fair as the early morning. 

Fleet as the forest roe ; 
Bright as the wild red roses 

Along the cliffs gray side, 
Gay as the mountain streamlet, 

"Was the lovely boy that died. 

Summer on shining summer 

Lighting the pleasant skies, 
Deepened the blue, calm beauty 

Of his frank and earnest eyes ; 
Spring after spring-time gathered 

With buds and blossoms wild, 
Fresh wreaths of thought and feeling 

For the forehead of the child. 



178 ADRIAN. 

Adrian — ^just as noble 

In soul as name was he ; 
Regal in form and feature, 

And brave as truth can be ; 
Leader among his fellows 

At ball or hoop, or swing, 
Tenderest with the weakest, 

And generous as a king. 

Mother who sittest lonely 

Beside the vacant door. 
Conning with tears in silence 

Each garment that he wore. 
With troops of sainted playmates 

He breathes heaven's holy air. 
Robed in the spotless raiment 

That Christ's dear children wear. 



Father who listenest vainly 
For light and bounding feet 

Gladdest in prompt obedience 
Thy simplest wish to meet, 

"With lifted face he waiteth 
On Christ the Master now, 



ADRIAN. 179 



Learning the lore of angels 
With earnest seraph-brow. 

Warders along the ramparts 

That guard the flowery shore 
Where wander all the little feet 

Earth's darkened homes deplore, 
Blow with your silver trumpets 

And tell, in tones elate. 
Another good and noble child 

Has passed the Heavenly Gate. 

Thou who wast bom of Mary, 

Child at a mother's knee. 
Thou who didst not forget her 

On dreadful Calvary, 
Bind up the broken-hearted. 

Their Perfect Comfort be. 
And gently lead them to the lost, 

Beyond Death's icy sea. 



THE SAINTED. 

She has heard the solemn summons, 

She has listened to the swell 
Of the lofty anthems ringing 

Where the white-robed spirits dwell ; 
And with sweet and willing courage 

She has girded her, and gone 
Through the mystery and shadow 

Of the silent vale, alone. 

Cordial greetings met her presence 

At the proudest mansion-door ; 
Blessings followed her light foot-fall 

From the humblest cottage-floor ; 
She was busy as the sunshine, 

She was gracious as the rain. 
But the Master called her heavenward, 

And she might no more remain. 



THE SAINTED. igi 

We shall miss her when a stranger 

Strikes the organ's stately keys ; 
When we bow, in deep adoring, 

At The Supper's mysteries ; 
But our grieved hearts will remember 

That with seraphs now she sings. 
And that Christ has led her footsteps 

To imperishable springs. 

Holy Father ! who dost send us 

Angels sometimes from on high, 
By their gentle lives to teach us 

How to live and how to die, 
Give us grace her bright example 

So to follow, that at last 
We may dwell vrith her forever 

When this life is overpast. 



CHETSTIAN HTMI^S 



ADVENT. 

Cleae as the silver call 
Of Israel's trumpets on her holy days, 
Beckoning her children from all walks and ways, 

The Church's accents fall. 

With sweet and solemn sound. 
Where winter's ice imprisons lake and stream, 
Where tropic woods with fadeless summer gleam. 

They make their joyful round ; 

Joyful, and yet how grave ! 
Bidding us kneel with faces to the east. 
And watch for Him, our Sacrifice and Priest, 

Who cometh strong to save. 

As at a mother's feet 

The children of one household sit to learn 

Some sweet domestic lesson, each in turn 

His portion to repeat ; 
13 



186 ABVENT. 

So, at this holy tide, 
Calling us round her for exalted talk, 
From each loved haunt, from each familiar walk 

She bids us turn aside — 

And list, while she relates 
The blessed story, old yet ever new. 
Of Him, the Sun of Kighteousness, the true, 

Whose dawn she celebrates. 

Now the rapt prophets sing 
Their anthems in each bowed and listening ear ; 
Now the bold Baptist's clarion-voice we hear 

Down the glad centuries ring ; 

Till, fired with joy, as they 
Who spread their garments 'neath His precious feet, 
With rapture we go forth our Lord to meet, 

Our glad hosannas pay. 

Yet list ! Another note 
Blends with the holy song our Mother sings, 
And high above the harp's exultant strings. 

Clear, trumpet-like, doth float : 



ADVENT. i^^ 

He comes to judge the world ; 
To gamer up His wheat, to purge His floor, 
"While into flames of fire forevermore 

The worthless chaff is hurled. 

Lord, we would put aside 
The gauds and baubles of this mortal life, 
Weak self-conceit, the foolish tools of strife, 

The tawdry garb of pride ; 

And pray, in Christ's dear name, 
Thy grace to deck us in the robes of light, 
That at His coming we may stand aright, 

And fear no sudden shame. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



FOR BABY. 



Ring, ring, cheerily ring, 
Church-bells, loud and long ; 
Ring as the happy children sing 
The holy Christmas-song. 

Church-bells ring, 

Children sing. 
Cheerily, merrily, ring and sing, 
Hail, All-Hail, to Christ the King ! 

Sing, sing, merrily sing, 
Little ones, one and all, 
Sing to-day, of a Sinless King 
Born in a stable-stall. 

Church-bells ring. 

Children sing. 
Cheerily, merrily, ring and sing, 
Hail, All-Hail, to Christ the King! 




Httipcr's Magazine 



■YE LADS AND LASSES, GO, FETCH IVr, HOLLV. MISTLETOE." 



Page 5. 



CHEISTUS KESUKREXIT. 

AN EASTER CAROL. 

Bird and beast and creeping thing, 

Trees and flowers and fountains, 
Tell the plains of Christ the King, 

Thunder back, ye mountains ! 
This is Nature's jubilee. 

Let no discord vex it ; 
Sing, O winds and waters free, 

Christus 7'esurrexit ! 
Resurrexit non est hie, 

Christus resurrexit ! 

"Wrestling in the wilderness. 
On the mountains praying. 

Now He walks the wave to bless, 
Terror's tempest staying. 



190 CHRI8TUS RESURREXIT. 

Soul, this is thy day of light, 
Let no doubt perplex it ; 

Lift thine eyes with rapture bright, 
Christus resurrexit ! 

Past, the .garden's bloody sweat ; 

Past, the bitter trial ; 
Jewish scoff, and Gentile threat, 

Peter's dark denial ; 
Calvary's cross and spear are done. 

Death and hell perplexed ; 
Angels rolled away the stone, 

Christus resurrexit ! 

Magdalen the tale hath proved, 

Magdalen, the winner ; 
Seven ways sinning, sevenfold loved 

Coming as a sinner. 
Hear her voice Eabboni say — 

ISTow no sorrow checks it ; 
Sinner, sing with her to-day, 

Christus resurrexit ! 
Resurrexit non est hiCy 

Christus resurrexit I 



THE TOUCHmG OF JESUS. 

Travel-woen, among the brambles 

Grope I, sick and lone, 
Yainlj searcliing for the pathway 

All witlf thorns o'ergrown. 
Holy angels ! to the Healer 

Guide my trembling soul ! 
If I may hut touch His garment, 

I shall he whole. 

Pleasure's red and purple blossoms 

"Wooed my foolish feet ; 
Busily the buds I gathered 

Filled with nectar sweet. 
Far and farther on I wandered, 

Drinking deadly wine 
From each deep and gaudy flower-cup 

As a draught divine. 



193 THE TOUCHING OF JESUS. 

Then — \h.Q noonday sun o'ertook me 

In a desert dread, 
Where, 'midst faded wreaths of purple, 

Lay the unshriven dead ; 
Wild Remorse the only watcher 

By their graveless bed — 
Stricken Rachel, still refusing 

To be comforted. 



I have fled away affrighted, 

But each leprous vein 
Carries up the hated venom 

To my reeling brain. 
Still I see, though dim and distant, 

Christ the Nazarene ; 
Holy angels ! lead me to Him ! 

He can make me clean. 

Through the clouds that throng about Him, 

Lowliest of all 
Come I, with my spotted raiment 

At His feet to fall. 
Holy angels, nearer, nearer 

Guide my starving soul ! 



THE TOUCHING OF JESUS. 193 

If I may hut touch His garment, 
I shall he whole. 



Master, from the bitter apples 

Gilding pleasure's tree, 
I am come, repentant, begging 

Bread and wine of Thee. 
In the dust I crouch before Thee, 

Waiting my release — 
Waiting till Thy tender mercy 

Bid me Go in peace. 



MISERERE MEI. 

Heee by the sounding sea, 

My knee, O God, I bend ; 
And while the chanting waves to Thee 

Their solemn worship send, 
In humble penitence I pray 
That I be heard as well as they. 

They, that Thy holy hand 
Placed in the ocean palaces to dwell, 
Dare never to transcend Thy right decree. 
But ever do Thine awful bidding well ; 
Thundering amidst Thy storms, or, still and dumb, 
Heeding the mandate. Hither shall ye come. 

And the glad voice they send 
Up to Thy throne beyond the vaulted skies, 
Passes unchallenged through the jasper gates 
To blend with heaven's triumphant harmonies, 




From Harper's Maeazine 



Copyright, 1871, by Harper & Brothers. 
" YE MAY NOT BRING HEIt FROM THAT ROCKY COAST, 
THE STRANDED SHIP." page 15. 



MISERERE MEL I95 

And certify that Nature's awful mirth 
Proves Thou hast still a witness on the earth. 



But I — I who have strayed 

Far from the peaceful paths that lead to Thee, 
Gathering the Sodom-fruit of earthly joy, 

Foi-getful that it grew by Sin's Dead Sea, 
How will mine accents, trembling, low and grieved, 
'Midst Nature's joyful anthems be received ? 



I, whom Thy holy hand 

Fashioned in Thine own image, and endowed 
With Thine unmortal spirit, unto gods 

My feebleness erected, low have bowed ; 
Laying on earthly altars fruits and flowers 
Thou hadst demanded for Thy heavenly bowers. 

O Father, all are gone . 

Low in the dust my cherished idols lie ; 
Lily and asphodel I should have kept 

For Thee, amidst the bright wrecks droop and die. 
Send rain and sunshine ! Bid my blossoms spring. 
Peace-offerings which to Thee I yet may bring ! 



196 MISERERE MEL 

Teach me to heed each tone 

Spoken by bird, and flower, and wind, and sea ; 
Teach my torn heart each wish and hope and joy 

That stirs its depths, to consecrate to Thee ; 
So, when the sea and earth give up their dead. 
Thy blessing. Lord, may rest upon my head. 



YIA CEUCIS VIA LUCIS. 

Daek Calvary's Cross ! Thy holy, mystic sign, 
Traced with the sacred wave, our foreheads wear. 

In solemn token that by grace divine 

With faithful courage we thy load must bear. 

Dark Calvary's Crown ! Thy thorns are sharp indeed, 
And weary temples throb beneath thy weight ; 

Yet we have vowed, albeit we faint and bleed. 
To hold thee better than our best estate. 

Bright Calvary's Cross ! Though abject be thy shame, 

Thy slender tree to Faith's uplifted eye 
Transfigured stands, like Jacob's stair, aflame 

With shining shapes that lead us to the sky. 

Bright Calvary's Crown, thou queen of diadems ! 

Thy thorns are golden rays that blaze afar ; 
And lo ! where blood-gouts were thine only gems. 

Shines, in their stead, the bright and morning star. 



198 VIA CRUCIS VIA LUCIS. 

Fair Catholic Church, on land and sea unfold 

Thy standard blazoned with the Cross and Crown, 

While we, the children of thy fostering fold. 
Exultant sing a Saviour's high renown. 

Thou gentlest Jesu, Crucified and Crowned, 

Keep us, when pleasures smile, when sorrows frown ; 

So, bearing Calvary's cross, we may be found 
Worthy at last to wear bright Calvary's crown ! 



MEMOKIA IN ^TEENA. 

Unto thy golden sands, 
Bright tropic country of my love, once more 
I come with exiled feet — how travel-sore ! — 

From cold and distant lands. 

Brightly the sun still shines ; 
'Midst living green, white blow the magnol-flowers ; 
The mocking-bird, throughout the circling hours, 

Sings in the clustering vines ; 

Fair as Damascus gleam 
The city gardens in their opulence 
Of rose and myrtle, flooding sight and sense ; 

And hill and glen and stream 

Glint in meridian light, 
Or smile beneath the full and silvery moon. 
As if no black eclipse could blot the noon, 

'No tempest blight the night. 



200 MEMORIA IN STERNA. 

O gentlest friend ! "We sit 
Beneath these drooping elms ; the wind blows sweet 
Among onr Paestum roses ; bright and fleet 

The finches sing and flit ; 

Yet wearily we turn 
From their soft wooings to these hallowed grounds 
Along whose silent, consecrated mounds 

The fires of sunset burn. 

What shall I say to thee 
Of him, the patriot just ? how, stammering, tell 
The virtues of that heart now resting well 

Beneath the myrtle-tree? 

From blue Atlantic's bound 
To the deep Bravo's mango-bordered shore, 
His trumpet 'midst the battle's shifting roar 

Gave no uncertain sound ; 

But, firm and true and clear. 
Cautioned the rash, inspirited the weak. 
Rebuked the venal, nor forgot to speak 

Rare, noble words of cheer 



MEMORIA IN STERNA. gQl 

To brave men fainting white 
In hospital wards, to children in their tears, 
To women strong in faith and strange to fears, 

Toiling by day and night ; 

And when disaster dire 
Furled the red cross whose light had dazed the world, 
His voice was first to blunt the arrows hurled 

Bj a flushed conqueror's ire. 

And these — what shall I say 
Of these, in battle-order side by side 
Drawn up, to wait that time which shall decide 

Where Right and Honour lay ? 

Dark day of overthrow, 
Yulnus immedicabile ! for thee, 
If in the future's Gilead there be 

A balsam yet to grow, 

Its healing shoot will spring 
From holy lives laid down for freedom's sake, 
From bold emprise whose clashing song shall make 

The echoing ages ring ; 

14 



203 MEMORIA IN STERNA. 

Its blessing will distil 
From haunts made classic bj heroic deeds, 
From Shiloh's plain, from Chickamauga's reeds, 

From Malvern's bloody hill. 

How proud these memories vast! 
Giving us each a dignity and strength 
Kot born of earth. They make us one, at length, 

"With the dim, fabulous past. 

Gathered from each red plain, 
Brave, silent phalanx ! kneeling by your graves 
I hear the rush of those eternal waves 

Whose hymn has one refrain. 

Ay — vanquished though we be — 
O heart ! beat rhythmic with my sorrow ! — ye 
Are of the Heraclidse — mount and sea 

Attest your high degree. 

Another classic age 
Dawns from Potomac to the Mexique strand ; 
With Hector and Leonidas ye stand 

On history's blazoned page ; 



MEMORIA IN STERNA. 203 

And from the sulphurous rim 
Of black defeat, ye join the deathless shapes 
Whose giant forms, like cloud-girt mountain-capes, 

Loom through the centuries dim. 

Let bloated, vain Success 
Be worshipped by the millions of To-day ; 
Righteous Defeat, uncrowned, hath silent sway 

To-morrow will confess. 

Strike deep, though silently, 
O Southern oaks, your roots in Southern ground, 
And lift, O palm and laurel, victor-crowned, 

Your branches to the sky ; 

The river's heaving floods, 
The mountain-tops, the steadfast stars shall say 
Unto the cycling ages, In that day, 

Lo ! there were demi-gods ! 



AT PAKTING. 

Faeewell — shall it be farewell ? 
Farewell, said lightly when the careless part ; 
Farewell, said coldly by the estranged in heart, 

And serving but to tell 
The empty dearth of cold Convention's shell — 

Nay, not farewell. 

Good-bye — shall it be good-bye ? 
Good-bye, low whispered amidst blinding tears ; 
Good-bye, presaging sad, long-parted years, 

Telling, with sob and sigh. 
Of change or thwarted plan or broken tie — 

Nay, not good-bye ! 

Good-night — shall it be good-night ? 
Good-night, which means to-morrow we may meet ; 
Good-night ! I fain my foolish heart must cheat. 

Though morning's golden light 



AT PARTING. 205 

Shine on a lone ship leagues beyond thy sight, 
Yet still good-night. 

Yea, best beloved, good-night ! 
Good Night, best Night, with all thy fairest dreams, 
Good Night, best Night, with all thy starriest beams, 

Watch by her pillow white, 
And tell her all my love, thou gentlest Night ! 

Good-night, good-night ! 



THE END. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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